Spark and Ignition
by unknown21af
Summary: Ten years ago, Katniss Everdeen made an impression on the Hunger Games forever. Her influence has grown since that fateful hour she lost her lover to win back her freedom to prosperity, widening without set control. Aetia Swan is the new Head Gamemaker, putting her career - and life - at risk to give the nation the voice they've been denied for decades, and change history forever.
1. Ultimatum

_**chapter one**_

* * *

Aetia slid her keycard across the electronic pad, unlocking the cold chrome doors. For a spring day, the weather had been unnaturally frigid and wet. Today was a windy, stormy day, complete with thunder and lightening. When Aetia was young, her mother would pretend that thunder was just the Heavens having a rock concert.

The bald woman walked down a hallway, her high heeled leather boots clicking against the dark wood floors. She stopped to read the room number of the first door to her right. Room 193. She needed 187. Aetia continued until she saw 187 and opened the door, walking in carefully.

Inside the room was President Snow. His white hair gave him an intimidating and wise appearance, and his folded hands on top of his hardwood desk added a strict tone to him. Aetia cleared her throat and seated herself in a black leather couch in front of the desk. President Snow glared at her with intense disappointment.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Snow," Aetia said immediately. He didn't respond at once, taking in the apology.

"You are not late, Aetia," He said at once, turning over a small egg shaped clock situated in the middle of his desk. The time read 7:42 PM, and she was instructed to be there at 7:45 PM.

She was puzzled, as the voice message she received from him sounded disappointed with her previous excessive tardiness. Before she could ask why he was mad, then, he continued.

"I am alarmed by your lack of preparation for the upcoming Games." Aetia blushed in embarrassment. Her artificially whitened skin to match the same tone as a sheet of paper awkwardly transformed to a dilute red. "Oh. That..." she stammered.

"Look, I'm new on the job, here. I have been noticing that the other Gamemakers won't share their ideas or plans with me as easy as last year with Steiv..." Aetia was referring to the previous year's Gamemaker, Steiv Mach. Aetia had been greeted with a cold shoulder from the 29 other Gamemakers on her first day as Head Gamemaker. Before that, she was just a computer technician in the Capitol and was specifically recruited by Snow during the holiday season.

"Aetia, you are skilled with technology, so I do not expect you to be well with new people. However, it is inexcusable that you have yet to even begin an arena plan with the other Gamemakers. If I do not have a plan by tomorrow, you will be fired."

"But tomorrow is the Reapings!" Aetia gasped. "I have to attend the town meeting during the Reapings!"

"Correct. Which is why I need the plan by tomorrow at 9 o'clock sharp. If I don't get it by then," Snow warned, "you will be fired and exiled to District 12."

Aetia gulped, then rubbed her head. "A-alright, Snow. I will call a meeting at once." She stood and exited the room. Before the door could close behind her, President Snow said, "Have a swell 84th Hunger Games."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Tribute spaces are now open! I will close applications on November 20th, or when I receive 40 applications. You are not guaranteed a spot, so please hold tight. Applications can be found on my page, but they are only accepted through PM. Any application in the review section will be ignored and deleted, so please follow these rules accordingly.

Also, this takes place 10 years after Katniss won the Hunger Games. Yes, she won singularly. This will be discussed later, so there was no rebellion. I hope you all favorite and follow! Don't forget to apply :)


	2. The Girl on Fire

_**chapter two**_

* * *

Katniss unlocked her front door with the one silver key she was given almost ten years ago. The smell of smoke coming from the Hob was distant and reminded her of her teenage years, when she still had her innocence. She put down her purse when the key got stuck in the lock like it tended to do some days.

As she maneuvered inside, past columns of cardboard boxes, she could smell her mother's cooking wafting out of the kitchen. It was some sort of meat, possibly rabbit, and herbs. Prim was likely upstairs reading or in the garden tending her plants. Katniss snuck up the stairs, sliding her sneakers off before walking up. At the top of the staircase, she turned left and down the hall until she reached her bedroom.

Inside was the queen sized mattress laid on the floor and her armoire against the wall. She flipped the light switch on and removed her blouse, going down to a simple white t-shirt. She threw the thing onto the bed and walked out, but not before stopping at the foot of the bed and gazing at the picture hung above it.

It was taken four years ago, right after Prim finished high school. It is a framed portrait, about three feet in width and two feet tall. A panoramic shot. She wears the elegant white gown that she took a whole week to pick out. He wore the simple and understated black tuxedo, which was the picture perfect wedding attire you can think of. It was her wedding photo, just as the happy couple had their first kiss as newlyweds.

Gale is so handsome, Katniss thinks to herself. She leaves the room now, closing the door behind her and returning to the living room. The boxes piled up were all of Prim's things, as well as a few other possessions that were gifted to her as she began the process of moving out for the first time. Luckily, Prim was just moving in with some of her friends as roommates, but the surprise that she was leaving still hurt the same.

Katniss walked into the kitchen to see not only her mother, but also Masey sitting in her high chair. The toddler had her father's golden locks and her mother's grey eyes. Gale and Katniss later decided that her mother, April, had passed the "good looks" onto Masey. After all, Katniss giggled at the time, she _is _her grandmother.

April spun around from the pot of stew to see her 26 year old daughter standing there, smiling at the adorable two-year-old enjoying a snack of fresh blueberries and a slice of warm bread. April smiled, then hugged her daughter.

"Oh, honey! I didn't expect you to be home so early. I was hoping to have dinner ready before you got back, but little miss Masey was just asking for a thirty minute cuddle session," April said.

"Is that so, Masey? Maybe I'll just have to tickle you!" Katniss shrieked, then began tickling her daughter. Masey giggled softly before escalating into a real hearty laugh. April laughed to herself when Prim then walked in.

"Hey, Katniss. How was work?" she asked.

Katniss shrugged. "It was fine, nothing exciting. Hollinger was being a real pain in my behind today."

"It happens. Today was fine for me, if anyone's asking. We found a house near the square that's nice enough," Prim said. There was a pause afterwards.

"Are you still doing the Reapings tomorrow?" April finally asked after a long silence. Katniss didn't look up right away, keeping her stare into Masey's eyes.

"Yes, I am. Unfortunately..." Katniss still remembers each Reaping since she turned twelve years old, then the year she saved Prim's life. It's all such a hard thing to remember after all of these years. This one will be the tenth anniversary since her win.

"I just don't like mentoring the children, Mom."

"Well, obviously you're good at it. We have had three winners in ten years, Katniss. And that's not counting you," April reminded her.

"We could have had four." This memory in particular is the toughest one to let go of. The last day during her games. Standing on the Cornucopia with Peeta and Cato, trying to make the shot that would finally end the game... For once, Katniss missed a shot. The bow slid upwards too much, causing the arrow to pierce Peeta in the cheek. This forced Peeta and Cato down to the muttations, who ate them alive. Katniss has never shot an arrow more than four times since that day.

April bit her lip and mumbled an apology. Something about having brought the subject up. Katniss said "Whatever," and sat down at the table.

Katniss had been proud of her three winners in the last ten years. First was 18 year old Obsidia Beader, who won two years after Katniss. Then came Noran Udall, who was 15 at the time two years after that. Her most recent winning tribute was from the last Hunger Games, and it was a person very near and dear to her family: Posy Hawthorne, 13 years old. Her daughter-in-law was reaped, causing immediate distress in the family. Posy was the youngest Hawthorne at the time and by far the weakest. Katniss was even more afraid because she was still forced to bring her daughter along with to the Capitol.

Luckily, Katniss and Gale trained Posy to hunt when she was still young. Even though Katniss never picked up a bow again, Posy was learning quick and caught up to her standards. It was a huge surprise when Posy received a training score of 10. She got lots of sponsors when she was in trouble, and luckily Posy only had to kill two tributes: one girl who tried stealing her food and in the very end when she snuck up on the last living tribute, Artira Salas from District One.

Katniss managed to retain her mentorship status after Obsidia won the 76th Hunger Games, which was quite a long process. First, the President had to review the request and then accept or deny it. If he accepted it, then the request was moved to the Gamemakers, and their decision was the final word in the situation. Luckily, Katniss was given the title until she turned 45 years old, or she has 12 winners. Whichever comes first, they told her.

This year, Katniss was hoping to win the Hunger Games once more. After Haymitch passed away from liver cancer two weeks after Masey was born, Katniss swore she would try to produce the most Victors in his honor. This year had to be the same.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I want to thank EVERYONE who has submitted tributes to my story. I'm always looking for more, so please don't hesitate to submit. As always, read my profile for rules and guidelines and have a good day!


	3. District 1 - Reapings

_**chapter three**_

* * *

_lizzie kaelin, district one_

* * *

"Pick up the pace, Lizzie!" Father hollered. He paced back and forth across the small gymnasium floor as he watched me defend myself against the trainer. "We don't have all day, here! Don't let him side swipe you, either!" Father is very demanding during our training sessions, so much so I could not even mutter something back to him, or else it was ten pushups. He expects nothing but the best out of me.

The trainer, a tall and phsycially fit man named Cash, then stopped throwing gloved punches at me. He bowed. "It is nine-thirty, Lizzie. Get ready for the Reaping," he told me. Cash unstrapped the gloves on his hand and slid the polyester fabric off of his sweaty palms. Father nodded, and then proceeded past me to Cash.

"Thank you very much, Cash. We'll see you sometime soon," he said. Cash wiped sweat off of his forehead.

"Of course. Good luck, Lizzie. Thanks, Reginald." Reginald is Father's name. He chooses to be called Reginald over any other nickname, probably because of the authority it gives him. We both exit the gymnasium into the main lobby of the athletic center. The usual visitors are mingling inside, but none of their teenaged children are with them. We are all preparing for the Reaping.

Father and I do not speak until we get in his car. He tends to keep to himself when I'm around, and I know better than to begin conversing about wasteful topics he has no interest in. I know how it upsets him.

Once we pull out of the parking lot, he begins to critique today's training session. "Lizzie, you need to pick up your feet. I am getting concerned that you are not truly taking away from these lessons like you should, and you know what that means."

I gulp heavily. If I don't perform well enough in my training sessions, he will always tell me that I must do a ridiculously challenging task, such as climb a radio tower without rappel gear, or swim ten laps in the lake. I am hoping it is the former, which he knows I like more than the other option.

"But this time, we're gonna do something different. I'm not sure what it will be yet, but when I think of it, you'll do it. Understood?"

"Understood," I repeat. "What else did I do wrong?" I ask.

He pauses only to turn a corner near our house. We pass by the district square and I briefly catch a glimpse of the set up crew preparing for the reapings. They are hanging big red banners with the words "District One" painted in gold.

"Well, for starters you didn't bow to Cash when you began training. Respect is of the highest importance, you know that. You also missed several blocks and hit opportunities on Cash, Liz." He continued, before sighing. "If you are to volunteer in three years, you need to step it up. Twelve year olds could beat you in the arena, Lizzie."

I frowned and peered out the window. Father nagged on and on the rest of the ride home as I counted the trees by the street. When we came within one block of our house, he slammed on the brakes hard, knocking me out of my day dream.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Was I not having a serious discussion with you, Lizzie? Am I really that unimportant that you ignore me when I am giving you help on your training?" His voice began to rise in anger, like a mercury thermometer does in boiling water. His face even turned colors from flushed pink to beet red within a few seconds.

"I'm sorry, Father," I attempted, but it doesn't work.

"No, no you are not! Lizzie, get out of the car. Go to the reapings like that. I will meet you there. This right here is the punishment you are getting. Go!" He screamed. I unclipped my seatbelt and pulled open the car door. "But Daddy!" I broke. I never say anything other than father to him, which may make him even more upset. I jumped out and slammed the door behind me. Father sped off almost instantly, leaving me behind in his dust.

"Damn it, Lizzie! Now you made him mad," I tell myself outloud. "Mom would be so mad at you." I continue walking back towards the town square, degrading myself for something that wasn't very much my fault once again.

* * *

_satin christ, district one _

* * *

The clouds were slowly breaking as Jamana and I rode our bikes down through the city streets. The night before was the first hard rain we've had in months, leaving the ground damp to the touch and very slippery. It was Jamana's idea to ride bikes anyways, so if I fell, he would take the blame.

"C'mon, I hear the anthem!" He yelled back at me. The reapings were to begin any minute now, and this was the year I was going to volunteer. I had to be first. I yelled back at Jamana to speed up, because his four speed bicycle is nothing compared to my six speed. I pedal like a mad man, breaking a real sweat out of fear I won't make it to the reapings in time.

I see the town square around the corner and I jump off of my bike. It crashes into milk crates beside a building and I run through a crosswalk. I see the escort woman taking the stage and I check in. The man takes a sample of blood from my finger and identifies me quickly. He senses my urgency and allows me through. Jamana goes on the stage, since he is actually a mentor, and I find the row of boys my age. He sits in his chair while I find my place.

"Welcome, welcome," the escort greets. She has yellow hair and wacky colored makeup on, which is no surprise from the Capitol. This is her second reapings in our district, and her name is Nava Juniper. "It's time to select the tributes for the 84th annual Hunger Games," she continues. The rules are that no tributes may volunteer until a name is called, so I have to wait.

"This year, we will go with the boys first," she grins. Suddenly, a clear orb raises from a hole in the stage up to belly button level on the woman. Inside the orb are all the names of boys in our District. Surprisingly, I am going to have to volunteer quick. I see other guys preparing to do the same, so I position myself to make the stage faster than the rest. It's simple, really: just run on up there and you are the tribute.

I know I can win these Games. It's in my blood, sort of. After my sister, Sapphire, was killed on the first day, I have been trained by my father to win these Games. I already have the physique to win and the looks. Ladies always send sponsors to the cute 18 year old tributes. I meet all of this criteria.

Just then, the woman pulls out a slip of paper with a name on it. She unfolds it, and reads his name.

"Deacon O'Neill!"

"I volunteer!" I shout, raising my hand. The escort doesn't seem the least bit surprised, since in our District we always have volunteers. I walk out onto the red carpet that is laid down, treating us like celebrities. Once I start walking up stage, I can sense the urgency that if i don't make it, the other Careers will.

Once I reach the stage, I take the microphone from the escort's hands. I say my name, "Satin Christ" and age. There are applause from the crowd, and now I know have won the 84th Hunger Games.

* * *

_lizzie_

* * *

He walked up on the stage, vibrant with confidence and charm. He's your typical Career from District 1; beautiful, muscular, perfect. I wish I had at least one of these traits...

Father would tell me to pay attention to these boys during the Games, particularly since they were from our district. We've only had a handful of District One boys win in the past decade, but every year they always make it to the final four or higher. Hopefully, Satin will be the next winner.

I spin around when I hear my older sister, Trista, calling my name. There is a momentary break when the mayor is talking with the volunteer, which is a usual happening in the reapings. I make my way through the crowd to the edge of the square, where Trista and Father stand.

Trista has her arms folded and her face reads disappointment. Trista is much like Father in that she is very no nonsense and strict. Her blonde hair falls in flat sheets to her collarbone, pushed back so I can see her face even better.

"What are you doing alone?" She demands. "I thought you were grounded and not allowed to be here by yourself, Lizzie."

This accusation takes me by surprise. Trista is 19 years old and no longer lives at home, so how would she know whether I was grounded or not? Father had not informed me of this either, so I believe he has gotten Trista against me as well.

"I- uh, I wasn't aware," I stammer, but Trista then smacks me in the mouth. A few people near react shocked but do not make a noise.

"Speak up, Lizzie! Don't stutter." Trista was always like this as a child. Since I was born, it seems as if both her and Father have been against me. Mother died giving birth to me, and I know that since he never got the son he wanted, the pressure to train me to be a victor was intense, so any sort of misbehavior I commit completely upsets Father and eventually Trista.

"I had not been aware I was grounded," I assert. Father rolls his eyes.

"I told you once you got out of the car, you liar." Father expressed his disappointment in me daily. It was rare when I would please him, which always was a great feeling. Even though I know it was never permanent, I still loved the feeling of being appreciated. Father loved me only when I did as he pleased.

"You know what, Lizzie?" he continues. "Remember when I told you that you would serve your punishment whenever I said so? I know what it will be," he said, then smirked.

He pointed at Satin. I gulped, then my face flushed with red. I got hot and my palms begin to sweat. I nodded once. I was ready for this... I think?

Trista smiled as well. Father kissed me on the top of my head, whispering "I will love you if you do this." Is that the only way I can receive his misguided form of love? Maybe. I am confident that, regardless, this will be worth it.

The reapings continue and I hurry back to my spot. Another orb rises from the stage for the girl tributes. I am absolutely certain I am prepared to volunteer. I am only fifteen years old, but as Father always told me, I was born ready. His message still rang fresh in my memory: "I will love you if you do this." I begin to question this sacrifice, but I fear his punishment. I swallow hard when the name is drawn.

Nava reads the name and leans into the microphone. "Shimmer Spagnola!"

I see Shimmer's face, which lights up with glee, two rows ahead. She is seventeen and a fellow career. However, she would have been my only competition for the volunteer... Sorry, Shimmer. There's always next year.

"I volunteer!" I scream, much louder than necessary. I wanted the entire nation to hear this. To understand that I want to enter these Games not for the glory, but to bring home pride for my Father. I want him to see me, the runt of his litter, and speak great things about me. I want to be my Father's favorite.

Immediately the crowd parts for me. Shimmer's happiness fades to borderline anger. I'm stealing her spotlight, but she didn't want this, anyways. I walk up to the stage, turn at the top of the stairs, and glance at my Father. While his face is beaming with absolute excitement, I see Trista gasp and cover her gaping mouth.

I turn my back to them and accept my position in the 84th Hunger Games. I was born ready for this. For my Mother, for my Father.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I am SO happy to have this chapter prepared! This will be one of three reaping chapters.

Here's my plans for the future: I will finish the reaping chapters, which will feature Districts 1, 4, and 7. The "Justice Building" scene will have Districts 2 and 3 shown. The train scenes will be split into two chapters, one for District 9 and another for District 6. The training scenes will be three chapters, one for Districts 5, 8, and 10. The training score scene will be for District 12 only, but told through Katniss's perspective. Then, the pre-arena scene will be told by Districts 11 and 12's tributes. Then the games will begin!

I am still in need of tributes, as of 11/7/13. If you have one tribute already, feel free to submit a second. I will not write the next chapter until I have all of the tributes filled, so submit soon!

Special thanks to ZazzyZ and Springgirl for their submissions of their respective tributes, Satin Christ and Lizzie Kaelin. I absolutely adore them both and am so happy to have them represent the first batch of Careers. Have a good day, followers and friends!


	4. District 4 - Reapings

_**chapter four**_

* * *

_marina oasis, district four_

* * *

"So..." she whispers. "Are you going to volunteer?"

I had asked myself this same question many times this past year. I can't help but think I'm prepared to volunteer. The mild training these past months have aided me enough to the point that I tell myself I'm ready. But what do I tell Daria?

"I don't know," I lie. We are walking down the school hallway, just minutes after the final bell rang. Even though the day was cut in half, we still have to attend the reaping. Then tomorrow, we start the process over once again.

Daria's chestnut brown hair is tied back in a ponytail. She intimidates me with her killer smarts, and I get anxious she is secretly judging me for my choices. I know I have to make a decision, soon, before we get to the reapings.

"I think you shouldn't. Not yet. You aren't ready, girl," Daria nags. She is very true, but I have to bring redemption to our District. We haven't won in four years, when Caspian was reaped...

Caspian is my brother. He was 17 and I was 12. Even though it was my first year, I was unfathomably afraid of being reaped. When Caspian's name was drawn, I was actually relieved. It's very loathsome to harbor these feelings towards a sibling, but we had a tumultuous relationship for a very long time in our lives. After our mom died, he never bonded with me and accused me of being at fault for it, which it so wasn't. Caspian deserved to die, in my opinion.

So imagine my surprise when he survives countless stab wounds and even a broken arm, and still pulls off winning the 80th Hunger Games. My family was overjoyed by his success, but when he returned, he shut us all out of the picture. He moved out, into the Victor's Village, and hardly spoke with any of us. The arena changed him. Apparently, the trauma was too much for him. Last December, we received a visit from a pack of Peacekeepers informing us he hung himself.

I have never shed a single tear over his death. He was 20 when he passed away, three years overdue.

Daria and I exit the main school building. We're a block from the town square, meaning crowds of students and teachers alike will all walk in the same general direction. Daria and I continue walking and talking, until our other friends find us.

Coral jumps onto Daria's back and the girls laugh. Coral is very friendly and hilarious, so she isn't shy about making a scene in public. Behind her is Caster, also known as my boyfriend.

Caster spins me around and we kiss for a moment. I hate calling him my boyfriend. Frankly, it's too childish and cliche for me to say it to him. I prefer the term lover, but when I'm introducing him, I often use the classical title. Caster is the perfect example of a Career boy. He has the muscularity to him, the boyish charm... He would get sponsors. We often tell each other dreams of being in the Games together, where the Capitol would allow the two winner rule once again. Especially since it wasn't accomplished those many years ago.

"Babe, are you nervous?" He asks. It's somewhat ridiculous, since my name is entered just as much as his.

"I don't worry about it much, hun," I respond. He smiles and we intertwine our fingers as we continue walking up the street. This moment alone will briefly change my mind about volunteering... Or will it?

* * *

_river catawnee, district four_

* * *

Nothing stings more than the vibrant District Four sun on an already peeling previous sunburn. I shouls have worn something more practical than these boardshorts and a grey tanktop to the reaping. I really just want to get started, instead of waiting for the others to shuffle into the district square. While waiting, I tie and then retie my shoelaces out of anxiety. I feel a tug at my braid once I stand back up, turning to see my mother.

"Oh, dear, I told you to put on lotion!" she cries. Keyanni Catawnee is very protective over me, and it's almost suffocating. She has the same long black hair as I do and same threatening dark eyes. She stands with the velvet rope between us, which feels like a wall dividing us.

"Sorry, Ma," I apologize. "I will when I get done with this, okay?" She seems concerned, and then nods in agreement.

"Go back to school and come right home afterwards. I am making potato and shrimp soup tonight, served how you like it," She says.

"Alright. Let's just get this over with," I say, impatiently.

As if on my cue, the escort, a man with a purple suit and vibrant red hair taps the microphone once. He clears his throat and introduces himself as Audieus Vanhoss. Audieus then plays the yearly introduction video to the reapings and we watch just like we always do. This is my fourth year here, and I can't wait for it to be my last. Sometimes I wish it had been my last two years ago...

I was reaped when I was thirteen years old. I was making my way up the steps to the stage, however, when I heard a faint "I volunteer!" in the distance. An eighteen year old guy volunteered in my place that year. He had saved me.

Unfortunately, two days into the Games, he had been killed by another Career tribute. My savior hadn't lived to come home. I wanted to thank him for saving my life, but he was never going to hear this. Every year, I count my blessings and thank him for saving me when I was so young. This year is no different.

The bowls for the escort to choose names from now sit on tables set on the stage. Audieus then makes his way over to the girl ball and pulls one name. My mother clenches my shoulder, silently praying it isn't her friend, Masha's daughter DaLucan.

The name belongs to a 17 year old girl named Khalima Berre. Khalima looks surprised, then pushes her way from the crowd. But before she can clear the velvet rope, a volunteer rises. She runs to the stage, saying that she volunteers. I see the boy standing in front of me gasp, then become agitated and uncomfortable. He starts to yell and make his way to the stage. Has he just volunteered as well?

No, definitely not. He gets on the stage, and one thing can be heard loud and clear through the entire District.

"Marina, what the fuck are you doing?!"

* * *

_marina_

* * *

My mouth gapes at Caster. Minutes ago he was caressing me and telling me he believed I could win the Games. I volunteered for him, and now he humiliated me in front of a live feed of the entire country.

"I volunteered, Caster! What are you doing?!" I yell back. I can feel my skin growing hotter by the second and I could vomit with how embarrassed I am. A Peacekeeper pulls Caster off the stage, and he is taken back to his designated section. I turn and back tears. He is out of sight now, and I try pushing him out of mind, too. I carry myself with esteem and act as if nothing happened.

The mayor turns me arouand starts questioning my decision to volunteer and asks for my name. I tell him, which he whispers to our escort. He then says my name, Marina Oasis, into the microphone as the respresenting volunteer. Audieus continues the reapings like normal, and now I begin to fear that Caster will volunteer, too.

Audieus reads the name. River Catawnee. My heart drops when I remember two years ago, to when River was reaped the first time. He had someone volunteer in his place, and now he's in the same situation once again.

My eyes find River. He has grown his hair out into a braid, and he is badly sunburned. He turns to his mother who grips onto him like a life preserver. She is sobbing uncontrollably and begging for him to not go. River is nearly in tears as well, frantically begging someone to volunteer for him. I almost want to cry at this scene alone, since it's much like a dog stuck underneath a chain link fence, struggling to survive. River eventually breaks from his mother's grip and we stand together on the stage within a few moments. When I finally find Caster once more, I feel incredibly alone: Caster walks down the street, not turning back to wish me, his girlfriend, good bye.

* * *

_river_

* * *

My mom cried more than I expected her to. I want to scream and cry too, now that my fate is sealed as a tribute. I've beaten the odds to be the most reaped teenager in the entire history of the Hunger Games. This time, no one is going to give up their life for me. I begged someone to take my spot, anyone. I don't want to be here. I will die.

I stand next to this girl, Marina. She is a Career, I can already tell. I know she is part of the training academy from our school, so she is definitely someone to look out for. She seems callous, since she chooses not to react to her boyfriend (assumed boyfriend, at least) and his anger about the volunteer. I wonder if he would have volunteered for me to be with her.

I wish this would happen. We walk into the Justice Building and the firm doors close behind us, our fates forever sealed. Marina and I will never return home. Just like the boy who saved my life.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Regarding the name change. Sorry, I forced myself to change the name from Fight or Flight because I discovered there was another titled Fight or Flight... And because the name is far more fitting for the plans I have for this story. Sorry for any inconvenience!

Thank you to Amor-deliria-nervosa7491 for submitting Marina and Springgirl for submitting River! I hope they can be very pivotal tributes in these Games, I have so much planned for everyone.


	5. District 7 - Reapings

**_chapter five_**

* * *

_titus fox, district seven_

* * *

Today is the Reaping. Jewel woke up sick once again, and the treatments she has been undergoing are only making it worse. On any normal day, I would have stayed home to take care of her. However, today isn't any given day. I have no choice but to go, hoping to not have my name drawn from the bowl.

Maggie is in Jewel and Puck's bedroom, where the seven year old twins sleep. Jewel is pale and has a bucket next to her bedside so she can throw up if she needs to. Puck is already downstairs, preparing to begin schoolwork for the next day. Jewel has a damp rag draped across her forehead, so her fever may get reduced.

"How is she?" I ask Maggie. She turns to face me, her face reading with worry lines.

"Not good. Her fever is gone, but nausea and vertigo are still present."

Jewel has her eyes closed and her mouth open. She has been suffering from a very aggressive cancer, and the special treatments given to us from District One that cost a fortune have so far only increased her likelihood of having side effects. She's only seven years old and dying.

The doctors gave Jewel three years to live. She received this diagnosis when she was turning 2 years of age. She beat the odds and lasted five, but lately her condition has been deteriorating.

"Alright," I sigh. "I have to go, Maggie. Have a good day. Feel better, Jewel," I say. I walk out and close the bedroom door behind me. I continue down a hallway to the living room before saying bye to Puck. I leave through the front door, following the street to the square.

The sound of sawmills in the distance and the smell of pine brings back old memories. Particularly of the day when Mom left...

It was just a week after Jewel got her cancer diagnosis. She had been very distant for the time being, and wouldn't even pay attention to her daughter. It was also the time when dad and mom were arguing over money issues already, so when we needed to pay for astronomical priced medication, it only tore open old wounds. She left us a note that next Tuesday, and all it said was, "Do not look for me." There was no 'Love mom'. She didn't love us after that point.

* * *

_morgann salven, district seven_

* * *

I can't stop shaking. It's a cold day here in District Seven, which is very common here. I reach the check in section, behind four other girls. In front of me is a short twelve year old. Her first year. I can detect her fear and anxiety about the reapings, but I know she is unlikely to be reaped.

After a woman behind the desk draws my blood and identifies me, she points at the section where I am to stand while I wait for the reapings to begin. I turn around and then walk over, looking around for Kaia.

Kaia is my girlfriend of almost a year. She and I have been best friends since we were young, but once we discovered our true love for one another, we have been dating since. As kids, we were inseparable. We still are, and we still hide our relationship from most of our families. My step sister Talya and my father Marius know, but that's it. It is easy to hide the relationship, as most of our romance happens behind closed doors.

Kaia and I both are bisexual. I cannot determine whether I like men or women more, but I know I love Kaia. Nothing means more to me than her.

Before I make it to my spot, a hand falls on my back. I twist to see Zale, my step brother. Unintentionally, a groan escapes my lips.

"Whatcha doin', Morgann?" he asks, grinning slyly. I roll my eyes.

"I'm walking to my spot, that's where," I say, shrugging his hand off of my lower shoulder. His hand drops to his side like a spaghetti noodle.

He _tsked_ at me. "Same here. Good luck, don't get reaped," he says coldly. It's no secret he and I don't get along. When I had turned ten, my father remarried his mother, Lynn Illa. At first, Zale and I got along pretty well but he was always a nuisance. I just got exhausted with his bothersome behavior, and especially when he would flirt with Kaia growing up. It was incredibly awkward.

He's now 17, his sister Talya is 19, and my younger siblings Nami and Beck are 6 and 4. Zale always speculated that the parents only married because Lynn was pregnant with Nami, and unwed pregnancies are about as common as a meteor strike in District Seven. I don't disagree with him on this.

I finally find my position, waiting for Kaia to meet me. I hide in between a few bigger girls so she and I are shielded from Zale, since he still is unaware of my sexuality. He has to have some sort of idea.

While waiting, I see the mayor walking up to the stage. Then I see her, my mother.

Mother left when I was five years old. I was too young to see her greed when she left my dad for the rich mayor, seeking a luxurious lifestyle that she could never afford with Dad. I haven't spoken to her much, other than assorted holidays and some weekends.

She sits in a chair next to him, holding his hand. Mother and step dad Stefan never had other children, and they remain this way only because Stefan already has a 25 year old son named Julius. Julius and I hardly know each other as it is, but the separation isn't as great as me and Mother's has become.

Just then, I notice Kaia a few people in front of me. I call her name and we briefly hug, followed by a peck on the lips.

"Hey babe," she says. I smile and repeat a greeting.

"Are you excited? Or nervous?" she asks at once.

"I'm not necessarily nervous," I tell her. "But I don't like seeing the faces of the girls and boys who get reaped. I want to help them, but I know I cannot. It pains me every year. I hate it."

Kaia agrees, nodding her head.

The escort takes main stage. She begins drawling about the history of our District and the Dark Days and the first Rebellion. Same stuff. I patiently listen, and then space out a little bit.

Kaia and I have watched two of our friends get reaped in the past. It's unsettling, but it's also traditional. I know there have been talks of a second rebellion, but if we fail once again, what will the Capitol do to us then? I don't want to think of that. The Hunger Games are cruel enough.

"If you get reaped, I would be willing to take your place," she tells me, waking me from my daydream.

"And if you did, I would volunteer for you, too," I tell her. I kiss Kaia on the nose.

"If you get reaped," Kaia said, grinning, "it would be the perfect time to come out." I laughed at this, especially since it's rather unlikely I'm to be reaped.

"Sorry, but that won't happen, hun. I'll come out to them when I want to." Kaia has been pressuring me to come out as bisexual for nearly our entire relationship. Which is fair enough because I can't keep our relationship in the dark for much longer. Shielded by the other girls, I steal a kiss from Kaia before the escort calls the first name.

"Morgann Salven," she reads.

I take a breath in before the news hits me. Kaia has a look of horror on her face, an exclamation mark at the end of a sentence.

"Baby, I was joking, I swear to God!" Kaia cries, under the belief she may have jinxed my name being selected out of thousands of other names. I had every chance to be selected as Kaia did.

I search for the gazes of others, who all stare at me. I see Mother, who is standing by the chair and covering her gaping mouth in terror.

"Don't do it," I tell her assertively. "Do not volunteer."

* * *

_titus_

* * *

I watch the girl make her way to the stage, bright red and completely shocked. Her strawberry blonde hair nearly matches the crimson her face changes to, and then the woman who cries on stage. The mayor comforts this woman, then the two walk off together.

The escort then pulls the boy's name. I scream internally not to pick me, because I have a sick sense life will pull this awful trick on me.

"Titus Fox!" she says.

Jewel immediately comes to mind. I have to save her... But I cannot run from the stage. I purse my lips and bite my tongue. I hear a few whispers behind me and I continue to the stage. I hold my hands in fists along the side and remember why I'm doing this: for Jewel. If I win, I know I can receive treatments for her that will save her life.

She is all I think about when the District applauds for us, the new tributes, before we are to be taken into the Justice Building. The girl, Morgann, stops fast. She turns to the crowd, and announces, "Your first bisexual tribute, District Seven!" and there are several gasps and some cheers from the crowd.

"The Capitol is eating this up," I whisper when she takes my side once again. Morgann goes to my school but I hardly pay attention to her. She smiles, and then replies.

"That's how you get sponsors."

She has it figured out.

* * *

**Author's Note: THANK YOU EVERYONE! **I am absolutely astounded by the participation in this and all of the awesome reviews you guys are giving me. I cannot express how much this means to me. I noticed along with you that Satin didn't get a huge part in the first chapter, but that's because Satin is intended to have a really long part soon. I apologize for this, but trust me, he will be much more interesting later ;)

Now, about my constant updates... I can write 1,000 words in an hour and a half, easy. I have so much planned for this, and I also have a lot of time on my hands. I will take a short break before we begin the Games to finish some last minute touches. Thank you all again so much, it means a lot!

Special thanks to DCdreamer55 for submitting to me Titus, and halifax20 for submitting Morgann. I really hope I captured your characters well in this chapter!


	6. Districts 2 & 3 - Goodbyes are Forever

**_chapter six_**

* * *

_chimera tethys, district two_

* * *

I had been crying for three minutes.

I could feel my eyes losing moisture from the constant rubbing and blotting with a tissue I could do. I told myself my tears were not a sign of the outside looking in, you see a Career crying about having just volunteered. This is not the case, since I am only crying because of Dad.

He had been pressuring me to volunteer since the last reaping ended. He wants a Victor daughter, and he knows my training has been sufficient. He was never mean about it though, but he would slyly bring it up in nearly any conversation we had. His face gleamed with delight because he really thinks I'm going to be a great competitor, but I can't fall under this pretense myself.

I blot my eyes with a tissue by the door once more when I hear a knock at the door. Without warning, it opens and my mother Cassie walks in. Behind her is my six year old sister Hera. She wears a pink dress and pink ribboned shoes. Mom hugs me tightly, and I hug back. She smells of cheap Capitol perfume and some sort of sweet alcohol.

"I knew you were ready for this, honey," she lies. Mom knows how I feel about volunteering, and even though she is pretty dense, the signs were obvious to her.

"I think I'm ready, Mom," I remind her. "Where's dad?"

"He's coming. Scythe needed a ride over, so Wave offered."

"Alright. What did he say to you?"

"Well..." She sighs. "He was disappointed in how you volunteered. Be prepared to get an ear full about that," she warns. Usually he is very hard to please. Sometimes he is threatening, but he manages to manipulate us into doing things we don't think are beneficial to us. Obviously, this is one example.

"Great. What, was he mad about my enthusiasm, or lack thereof? My reaping outfit?" I ask, twirling in my royal blue skirt and off-white tucked in blouse when I reach the last sentence.

"Maybe both," Hera interrupts. "Mommy, can I have a snack?"

Mom and I both laugh, but it's very canned and fake on my part. I force it out, to keep the situation from getting awkward.

"I promise that I won't let him bitch at you," Mom says.

"Chimera, I love you," Hera says, then hugs me. She reaches just past my belly button, and wraps her arms around my waist.

I kiss her on the head. Hera is likely going to be forced into training now. Dad wants his children to be victors, since his own father won the 34th Hunger Games. He wants it to skip a generation, however.

The Peacekeepers then open the door, interrupting our goodbyes. "Time's up," one of them says.

"Bye, Mom," I say, then hug her one last time. She leaves with Hera, who waves goodbye. The door closes once more. I sigh, then run my hands through my dark brown hair. I take a seat on one of the velvet couches in my room when the door opens again. Scythe and my dad enter.

"Good job, baby!" Dad cheers. "Not so much on your lack of confidence, but you're gonna do great!" He hugs me way too tight and then lets go to observe his future victor.

"You'll do fine," Scythe says. He is probably lying. His face reads anger, like he got into an argument with my dad on the way here. I want to believe that I'll do good, and I know I have strengths to take me far, but what if I don't?

* * *

_kazuo jimmers, district 2_

* * *

The trees rasp against the roof of the justice building. The cloudy sky adds to the eerieness, as I wait patiently for my Uncle Jago to arrive. I hope he comes with my younger brother Kenji, who was sick a few days ago and I want to make sure he is doing better.

The doctors told us that Kenji has an illness that they can't determine. Nothing serious, they said, but when he gets older he would need to take medications to ease his joint pains. Uncle Jago says he is almost sure it is arthritis or some sort of bone disease.

Just then, the door opens. Both walk in and I hug them immediately. Uncle Jago has been training me and Kenji since my father died several years ago. It was Dad's wish to have us trained after my Mom was murdered so we could fight for ourselves one day, but then he realized we had potential to win the Hunger Games. Uncle Jago would sacrifice anything for us, and already has, just so we can be happy and live our Dad's wish.

"So you finally did it, huh?" Uncle Jago said, taken aback by my decision to volunteer. It's all I could talk about this last year. He told me to wait another year when I would be 18, but I simply don't want to wait. I can't wait. This is what's inside of me, I would say.

"Yes, I did. Are you concerned?" I ask.

"Not at all. I just... wish you would have waited is all," he tells me.

"I don't think I need anymore training, Uncle Jago. I have been doing this for so long, and you and I both can see how fast I am."

"You're right, but with Kenji..."

"I'm fine, Uncle. I can walk around and do normal stuff still," Kenji blurts. He is adamant that there's nothing wrong with him, but we adults know there is something wrong.

This leaves us in an awkward silence. Uncle Jago then says he must leave, and takes Kenji with him. We hug one last time, and then he slips something into my hand. Whatever it is comes inside of a blue velvet pouch with a draw string close.

"Don't open it until you get to the Capitol, Kazuo," he tells me. "Good luck."

I nod at his prompt. "Thanks."

Behind them, the door closes and a Peacekeeper returns. He tells me it's time to go, and we are leaving. I walk outside of the small room back into the beautiful lobby where the other girl, Chimera, stands.

The escort and our mentor both stand by a back door. We are lead to these doors and I think of all the paparazzi that could be outside waiting to take a photograph of the tributes. I clench my hands into a fist as the escort opens the door. A flurry of flashing lights begin and I know that I'm truly here. I'm ready to fight.

* * *

_maribell vellier, district three_

* * *

"It's a bit ridiculous, Maribell," Darion nags. "You won't win, I'm sorry."

"Darion, what am I supposed to do? I have no choice. I have to fight," I tell him. I try to maintain my composure, because like usual Darion is caught criticizing me for something out of my control.

"Please fight. Please do. But don't be stupid and make small mistakes that can kill you. We wanna see you back here very soon, got it?" he says, warning me.

"And if I don't make it back?" I taunt.

"Then you'll be dead. We won't be friends anymore if that happens. I can't lose you, Maribell."

I faintly smile at this. It's the nicest thing he's said today, and it's very difficult for not to be blunt. In fact, it's nearly impossible for him to remain kind.

"I'll try. This isn't something I'm going to treat like a game, okay? I know it has the word 'games' in its title, but life isn't a game I'm worth gambling on."

"So train hard. Don't align yourself with Careers. Be short, honest and real with anyone you talk to. Distance yourself from the other tributes, Maribell. There isn't one thing in that Cornucopia that you need."

"I understand," I affirm. I do understand what he is telling me. We only have a limited amount of time to talk and I want every second to count. Darion and I will not be broken apart by this, and I want him to know that. I can't let him go.

"Don't forget about me, Darion. If I die." I never try to sound romantic when I say impressive and mature things like this, where I accept that death is likely to affect me in some way during the Games. We all must accept this fate.

"I wouldn't dare to." Darion grabs my hands. He kisses the right one and looks into my eyes with a very serious and intense glare.

Darion and I go back to when we were eight years old. I was bullied for being the "rich girl". My lifestyle at that time was comfortable, where my parents could support their daughter and still have a little extra funds for special things, like new clothes or the best Capitol toys. I was the minority at my school because my parents were well-off in District Three. Then, Darion caught wind of their taunts. After he punched the meanest one, all of the kids at recess cheered. I swooned over my superhero, and ever since we've been inseparable.

I've been asked on several occasions if I have feelings for Darion beyond our best friendship. Every time a nosy girl or a gossipy guy asks me, I simply say, "No." But inside, I do feel like there is a bud of romance in my heart for him. It would take a gesture in order to come into a vivid red rose.

Was his kissing gesture enough? Hardly. How I've longed for him to plant one right on my lips, but I've been to afraid to ask. This moment will be my last moment before I have to say goodbye to Darion, possibly for forever.

Tears begin to form in my eyes at this thought. I don't get emotional much, this being the rare time I do.

"What's wrong?" Darion asks, but it sounds fake. I think he knows.

"I don't wamt to lose you," I say, but my voice cracks on 'lose'.

Darion frowns and looks at the ground. I know he feels the same, but he doesn't want to cry in front of me. I cannot let him cry in front of me either.

We embrace and I sob into his sob comes like a hard rain against a rickety old house, and I am breaking him down with each movement. He sheepishly pats my head and says, "It's okay." I want it to be okay, I really do, but life isn't fair so why should this one year be different?

The door opens and the Peacekeeper tells Darion he must leave. He grasps him by the bicep and pulls him away from me, and I cannot let him go. I sob harder, saying things like please, and don't forget me. Suddenly the Peacekeeper lets go of his grip.

Darion lunges forward and we kiss for a few beautiful seconds. I would describe the moment, but it was too emotional. I wanted it to keep lasting, but I knew my parents were just around the corner. I let him go and he held my hand. He left just seconds after, and I know this gesture is enough. I love you, Darion, I said as the door closed in front of me.

* * *

_static morrison, district three_

* * *

I wondered why there were voices echoing through the halls. Our justice department is very old and has these weird concrete floors that just reflect sound off of it. If my hearing was somewhat better, I could probably pick up full conversations instead of fragments of sentences. I guess this would be nice, though: I don't want to see or hear certain things in the arena. I may not even go to the Cornucopia. If it's easier for me to not have an "incident", I'll just evade the others.

The door opens and my parents walk in. My mother wears her dark brown hair down to her shoulders, and has on a grey and black suit from her job at an accounting facility a few blocks from the town square. My father has his hair shaven short and a white button up shirt and grey slacks on. They are the definition of the word boring.

"Hello, dear," Mom greets.

"Unfortunately, we have to visit you here," Dad says. He isn't trying to be offensive, but he is serious about me being reaped. I guess he can't find a better way to say it.

"Yeah, this kinda sucks," I say, but then my mom slaps my hand for saying the "s-word".

"Use proper English, dear," she replies like always.

"Now that you are to be a tribute, is there anything you want us to do while you are dead?" Dad asks. He sits down in a chair and Mom follows.

"Well, since two of your children have died, it would be a good idea to have another," I bitterly tell them. It isn't necessarily a rude thing to say, like telling them to piss off, because I know that Mom is still capable to have another (and even asks to have another), and Dad is all about having an heir to carry the family blood on.

Mom only chuckles at this, but doesn't smile. Why are they so boring?

"Well, we would have to also buy you a plot in the cemetery next to Serena."

Serena is my older sister. When she was 16, she was very rebellious to the Capitol. She was publicly whipped on more than a few occasions and my parents expressed their disappointment to her in their monotone low-volume voices. She never listened. When she was arrested for graffiti, she was set to be whipped once again. However, she became unruly and a Peacekeeper shot her three times. She died instantly. I was close to her, but now she was killed in front of me.

To say it was damaging is an understatement. I can't let go of this event and anytime something similar happens, either I see the color red or hear a gunshot, I will break into a rage. The disorder is probably just post-traumatic stress disorder, but I cannot stop myself from either breaking something or hurting someone.

Serena died an attempted rebel. She wanted the Capitol to fall and the Dark Days to return, but unfortunately that never occured. She wanted liberty or death. She received the latter of the two.

"Alright, well, we bid you good luck, Static. Please win," Mom said, hugging me goodbye and kissing my left cheek.

"Don't fail us, too, son," Dad said. He nodded and we shook hands. They didn't say "I love you," or shed a tear over my departure. Tomorrow my bedroom will be the family office and the next day they will have sold all of my belongings to street vendors and donation centers. They won't miss me, just like they didn't miss Serena.

The Peacekeepers then told me it was time to go. I exited my room and saw the other tribute, a girl by the name of Maribell. I didn't look at her during the reapings, and I now know her from school. My Economics class.

We are led to the back doors where we are quickly loaded into a waiting limousine with blacked out windows and leather seats. The driver speeds off to the train station and helps us aboard the train that waits for its tributes to take them to the Capitol.

Before the doors close, I see the solemn faces of the people. They are upset that they are likely to lose two more children once again. They deserve a Victor... Will it be me?

* * *

**Author's Note: **The blog is up! The link can be found on my profile, please check it out! Thanks for all of your reviews, favorites and follows! The support means so much to me. I can't wait until we start the actual Games!

Thanks to xxxRimaxxx for submitting Static and Chimera, jaffacakesyumm for submitting Kazuo, and ItsMekaChu for submitting Maribell. I hope you love them as much as I do!


	7. District 6 - The Dream

**_chapter seven_**

* * *

_denzin keanu, district six_

* * *

The train's whistle blew and immediately the wheels began to turn. I could feel it shifting and moving until it picked up speed. Pike Finley sat in a chair next to the window, not even bothering to look at the paparazzi situated right outside snapping photos of us tributes.

After the train got to a constant speed, moving further away from the bustling town, I walked across the cabin to find a vase of ice water. I poured myself a glass and then made my way back to my seat immediately. I moved my long blonde hair from my eyes and drank the beverage quietly as Pike picked at her fingernails.

A few minutes later, our escort walked into the cabin. He was a slender man with jet black hair styled into a punk fauxhawk. It seems pretty 2000's and my Dad would say it was just a phase middle class America went through. He also had eccentric face makeup on, which seems about right for District Six.

He introduced himself earlier, but I can't seem to remember his name. He stood in the middle of the cabin and cleared his throat.

"Hello, tributes. Your mentors Levin and Lise will be here shortly, so please give them a warm welcome," he said, his hands folded. He walked over towards me and took a seat close to the wall. Within a few seconds, the doors slid open once again and two women walked in.

Levin is the most recent Victor from District Six, winning the 71st Hunger Games. She is 29 years of age and is actually the only Victor who has never had a morphling addiction. She has jade green hair that causes her to stand out among our District, and she has a bunch of body modifications and tattoos. Levin wears just a simple black business suit which conflicts with the hair and several facial piercings.

Lise has normal brown hair that seems a bit dirty from days spent away from a shower. She wears a blue t-shirt and denim jeans, not necessarily giving her a strange dynamic. She won the 60th Hunger Games, making her 41 years old.

"Hey, guys, I'm Levin Consol, your co-mentor."

"And I'm Lise Oden, your other mentor."

"Today, we're going to take a long train ride over to the Capitol before settling in and beginning training for the Hunger Games. We will arrive in the Capitol late tonight and you'll be taken to your apartment to sleep. Tomorrow we wil begin training!" Levin informs us. I nod in agreement while Pike hardly notices them.

"You guys can ask us questions during the ride, about strategy or just general info about the processes leading up to the start of the Games. I'll be right back, I have to use the restroom," Lise says. She excuses herself to the restroom in our cabin, leaving us with our escort and Levin.

"Did I miss anything, Roan?" Levin asks the escort, as she takes a seat next to him. He shakes his head and they whisper while we remain seated.

"Oh, and feel free to help yourselves to lunch on the dining table. Dinner will come at 7," Roan tells us.

I take the opportunity to have something to eat. The dining table is set up like a buffet: pick what you want and put it on your plate. The lunch is really more brunch because there are freshly made scrambled eggs and salad with four different dressing options. There are also fresh fruits, cheeses, meats, beverages and even a warm coffee pot. I just take a cheese danish and a helping of scrambled eggs and seat myself at the end of the table.

It's the first meal I've had today. I skipped breakfast because I was so nervous over the reapings that I didn't think I would keep any food down. My mom usually prods me about getting breakfast, but she could sense my fear. She didn't sense, however, that her thirteen year old son would have his name drawn.

Maybe she feels guilty about having me take in a few tesserae that we didn't really need. It was just four extra name slips and it will help for a long time this winter, but it obviously was enough to get me picked. Dad didn't want me to take any chances, so he is probably really upset about it, too.

I continue to eat and feel the warmth of the eggs hitting my stomach. Even though my family is pretty well off, getting fresh eggs from any farmer's market is served as a delicacy. District Six doesn't focus enough on farming like District Ten does, so for me to be feasting on delicacy foods is quite a treat. Even something as simple as a cheese danish is hard to come by more than once during a year.

Pike stands up about ten minutes later. I finished all of my food but helped myself to a cup of presumably fresh squeezed orange juice, but it's probably just the canned concentrate I have with my usual breakfasts.

She helps herself to a biscuit and a few bunches of grapes and sits adjacent to me. She eats slowly, tearing parts of her biscuit off and chewing it slowly. I want to start a conversation with her, but Pike is probably eighteen and wouldn't want to befriend a smaller kid like me.

She catches me staring at her. "What?" she says.

"Oh, nothing," I stammer. I feel my face get hot and I look away.

"Didn't your mom tell you it's rude to stare?" she says. She slants her eyes and scoffs.

"I'm sorry, Pike," I say, but it's met with a "whatever".

Lise then exits the bathroom after nearly fifteen minutes. Her hair is damp and she now wears a black t-shirt and sweatpants, so I can tell she showered. She joins her group and they quietly converse, too far out of earshot for me to understand.

"You know, I'm not intimidated by you," I whispered to Pike. Her eyes darted up to me.

"Likewise. Unlike you, I'm not puny and timid. I am the definition of self-confidence, Denzin."

"So, what? Should we work together?" I ask. It's a relief to finally be able to talk to Pike without the awkward conversation we trapped ourselves in earlier.

"That's not my thing, sorry. I'm not here to be a part of Panem's mindless entertainment. I refuse to lose myself in that arena," she asserts. "I will not kill anyone, either, but if I have to to ensure that I win, I will."

"So what, am I just gonna have to fend for myself?" I demanded. I wanted her as an ally, and it wouldn't be the end of the world for her.

"But being in an alliance is playing the game. If you haven't noticed, I'm very 'down with the Capitol' and I don't want these Games to define who I am. I don't want to play their game." Pike was being very firm about her decisions to be anti-Hunger Games.

"Face the facts, Pike. You're playing the game now, whether you like it or not. This will define you regardless of what happens, whether you live or die, and you are surely going to want the first to be your fate. Get over it." I never stand up to people like this, but I have already accepted the fact that I will be entering the arena. Pike doesn't want to accept this, but she has to accept her fate.

Pike then bites the inside of her lip. "Fine, we'll be partners."

* * *

_pike finley, district six_

* * *

The bathroom door locks shut behind me. I sit on the closed toilet seat lid and contemplate what I've just done. Making a deal is so against my beliefs and I don't want to carry around this dead weight with me. Denzin won't be of any use to me, other than a shield against thrown daggers. I have to get rid of him, and fast.

I exit the bathroom and tell Lise I'm going to take a nap. She nods me off and I enter the bedroom. I slump down on the bed and close my eyes, trying to drift into a heavy sedation.

I dream about the Capitol. Its lies, deceit and the power it holds over everyone. The President, who sweats anger and destruction, sits in high throne as I am brought to a guillotine. I'm shackled and escorted by two Peacekeepers from my District, Kroger and Raj, who I constantly am in trouble with. I know exactly what my fate is: decapitation. I inhale, then exhale. I must accept what is to come.

Immediately, I notice the pool of blood surrounding the machine. Someone was here before me. I think of my friend Grier, who shares the same dislike of the Capitol as I. Her constant beatings must have led her to this.

The President stands as I'm unchained and placed in the guillotine. The guards behind prepare to drop the blade that will slice my head off of my neck. The crimson stains beside me frighten me for once, and then President Snow asks me a question.

"Any last words?" his voice deepens.

I scoff. "Go fuck yourself."

The blade drops.

Before I lose my head, I awake from the dream. I'm sweating a bit, and it has gotten a bit darker outside, as the light coming in from the small window in my room has decreased significantly.

I roll out of bed and leave my room. Seated is Denzin and Levin, who are enjoying a full dinner.

"Oh, hello, dear. I was just about to wake you," she says, then smiles. I can smell the richness of our meal. Pastas and salads and desserts, but even this doesn't make me hungry. In fact, I'm a bit nauseated from my dreams so I just take a seat at the table. As the two eat, I watch the landscape around me shift from barren to a growing metropolis. The Capitol must not be too far away. I am soon going to live this nightmare, and hopefully I won't be seeing any guillotine preparing to slice my head off.

I close my eyes and silently pray to my family. To my mother, I tell her to be strong. I know she once had her opinions on the Capitol, but they are not spoken of any more. She has become an empty shell since she was severely punished for what she had said.

To my sister, Alondra, I remind her how much I appreciate her words as much as she nags to me, but that she must respect my dislike of the Capitol. She doesn't own my opinions as I do not own hers, and she should understand this.

And finally, to my best friend. Grier will be nineteen in a few months. She will be free from the Games, but her life will be changed forever because of them. Because I was reaped. I could have escaped the odds and became a free woman, but this is unrealized. I want Grier to continue the fight without me. She must continue my unfinished business.

I do not pray for my father. Like the Capitol, he is dead to me. The support he provides for our family as a whole is a decent thing, but I see his dark side. He is not a respectable man, and I know he wants the Capitol to destroy all rebels. He doesn't love his own daughter.

I open my eyes and see the bright lights of the big city in the distance. The glow is inviting and exhilarating, but behind this mirage lies a sinister nation that only cares about power and greed. They are nothing but evil.

I am then hit by an idea. These Games will not shape me, I think to myself. I will shape them. I will become the ignition to the spark once started ten years ago by Katniss Everdeen. There will be a rebellion, and I will start it.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Almost to the Capitol! Yay! Thanks for the continued support, everyone, it means the world to me. This chapter was particularly difficult for me to write, so I apologize for it being very bland and not exciting. There isn't much to go on with the train rides, but next chapter I'll include a little bit more movement.

Special thanks to The White Tulip for submitting Pike and to skyeblue5565 for Denzin. There was a reason for Pike's extremely short part this chapter, because I intend on including her specially for a future chapter with Katniss. I had originally given her a 2000+ word section this chapter, but it was inappropriate to do this. Sorry in advance!

Also, don't jump to conclusions about who I've chosen as Victor or not. I still haven't decided, but I do have plotlines that could fall flat, if you get what I'm saying. ;)


	8. District 9 - Bitter

_**chapter eight**_

* * *

_xian tang, district nine_

* * *

Jezebell sat in a plush chair, staring longingly out the dirty window. She twisted a copper strand of her curly hair in her hand as she day dreamed about the time to come inside the arena. She was naturally beautiful, much like my mom but in her own distinct way. I don't think she ever noticed me staring.

I turn back around in my own seat by the opposite window. She and I had only exchanged familiarities, nothing more so far. I've seen her around the District before, usually with a friend or talking to the strange Peacekeepers. Unfortunately, I know a lot about her that I probably shouldn't know.

Jezebell is widely regarded as the "school slut". It's rather disheartening, seeing someone so innocent labelled as a skank. The rumors usually pertain to her sleeping with older men and the occasional Peacekeeper in exchange for food rations. There is more cruel gossip exchanged between peers, but that's all just speculation.

She's in the same grade as me, but I'm 18 and she's 17. I don't see her often at school either, which is odd considering we have a school population of 500. Maybe she's one of those girls who leaves after second period because they can't stand being inside the prison-like walls we all call school.

I peer out my own window for a few seconds and catch a glimpse of a whole new world. District One. It's something your parents would read to you in story books as a toddler: beautiful marble statues strewn across the town square, mansions along a rolling hillside. There seems to be a parade going on in town, celebrating the Careers. I could be wrong, but banners may have been hung on one of the side walls of a building with the faces of the tributes. The girl was more interesting than the boy, who just looks like a hunky jock like usual. She seemed younger than your typical 18 year old, and that frightens me a bit. She's too young to be fighting these Games.

I begin to wonder how my mom, Jaslyn, is doing. She was at work when I was reaped, and I could only imagine she was devastated when she heard the news from my younger sister Zareigh. Zareigh just turned 12, her first eligible year, and now her older brother has been drawn. She cried when I stood on the stage with Jezebell, who was equally as hardened as I turned once my name was read.

Our mentor, Mackayia Chaffen, enters the room. She has her black hair cut shorter than mine and wears minimal makeup. It's a refreshing look for her, as Mackayia tends to be known for her outlandish makeup choices back home. She's the same age as me, having won the Games three years prior. She was a ruthless killer, and was dubbed the "Black Widow" because of her spidery long legs, jet black hair and the fact that she only killed attractive guys. She even managed to off two Career boys, from Districts One and Four. She is the youngest, but not the only, winner we've had in two decades, and I doubt she can mentor us very well.

"Okay, you two. You are very awkward, please try to be cordial," she begs.

"Sorry, Mac," Jezebell says, slipping out of her deep trance and getting out of her chair to come speak to me. It wasn't an order from Mackayia for us to get along, but Jezebell must want to have a reason to talk to me.

"Hey, we've met before," Jezebell says, right after her bum touches the cushions. She extends her right hand to me. Her long blue sleeve slides up a bit and I see pink lines hashing across her wrists. Self-harm scars.

I shake it with my hand gently and I say, "yes, we have."

"So, strategy? Wanna partner up? I'm fine with making friends," she tells me, as if I asked.

"Well, we'll have to see during training," I tell her, easing the questions down to a minimum. I don't particularly want to befriend her, in the case that I do end up in a final two scenario with her and I have to kill her. I wouldn't want to go home with that burden.

"Alright, well I'll see you around!" she says, and bounces off to a small table set up with coffee mugs and a drip coffee machine. I stop paying attention to her now, and begin tapping my finger on the window sill. I wonder about her self-harm scars that I saw earlier. Why does she cut herself? Because of the rumors, I guess. It seems to be the only logical explanation, besides unforeseen family problems.

I know from personal experience the tragedy behind self-harm, or dangerous addictions. My dad was a heavy chain smoker and even beyond the later cancer diagnosis and sickness he went through, he continued to do what he loved best: lighting up a cigarette. He died from a lung infection when I was ten, and my mom has been a nervous wreck since. She doesn't want us picking up on his bad habits, but I swear to her every night that it's a disgusting habit.

It is a bad habit, I tell myself. But I've been addicted. Smoking isn't the same degree of an addiction as self-harming is, but the damage it brings is just as great. Walking in through my front door back home and smelling of tobacco always raises an alarm with mom. She questions me, but I always tell her it was someone else. I just have to lie to keep my secret hidden.

The sun has begun its dip below the horizon and it's getting darker by the minute. We should be in the Capitol in a few hours, and then I can rest through the night. I need a smoke, but I think I can wait until we arrive at our apartment.

* * *

_jezebell clarence, district nine_

* * *

After stuffing my face with delicious mashed potatoes and gravy, I decide to retire to the bathroom for a quick teeth brushing. While this isn't the best time to be vain as usual, being very appearance conscious, I think it'll clear my head of things from the past ten or so hours.

After I close the mahogany wood bathroom door, I exhale deeply. As I inhale, I take in the sharp smell of antiseptic that was likely used to clean the bathroom before we boarded the train. It's almost hospital grade antiseptic smell, actually.

I haven't exactly processed my reaping quite yet. I think I'm no longer holding in the tears I forced not to well up in my eyes when my name was read, but the emotion still lingers somewhere in my chest, heavy as if it was a lead weight in my lungs.

The truth is I'm actually a little bit relieved to have an excuse to get away. At least now Oscar won't cat-call me as I walk down the alleyway by my house, or grope me when I'm on the way to the market in town. He's not my lover anymore, and I think this separation will sever whatever attractions he still holds against me.

What happened between us is the past now. He can call me whatever he wants or brag about taking my virginity all he wants (except, he probably doesn't say my actual name around his other Peacekeeper buddies), but it's been at least a year since we've had physical contact like we did before.

I brush my teeth using a supplied toothbrush and fresh mint paste. I do it pretty quick, definitely not the recommended two minutes, and spit. I wish it was the saliva Oscar and I swapped, but that's impossible. I can't drown those memories out forever, now can I?

I exit the bathroom. Xian sits alone still, glaring out the window with an intensity that is only seen in soap operas of the early 21st century. It's quite comical actually, as if anyone really notices he is immobile in his distant gaze.

I sit adjacent from him and attempt to make him notice me. I want him to notice me, to realize that we only have each other to work with. I need him to realize that our alliance is greatly appreciated in the arena.

Before long, he does notice me.

"What?" he asks, but not in an angry tone. He seems genuinely concerned, like I am horrified to see a spider crawling out from his left ear.

"Oh, nothing," I say. "We haven't spoken much is all."

"Probably because there's nothing to talk about. We're pretty different, you know," he tells me. Xian is trying to shake me off, I think, but I won't let go yet.

"Not really. We have more use of each other than the rest."

"What, like you think District partners can be friends? Yeah, that's only in ideal situations."

"We could make this an ideal situation," I press.

"You're right, but it takes two to make that kind of effort. Thanks, but no thanks." He stands up and leaves the room. He goes into a bedroom and I hear the lock flip into place. What's up with him, I ask.

I bite my lip. Rejection hurts, and I don't want him to ditch me in the arena. The truth is, I need him more than he needs me. I don't want to have to prove that to him, but that looks like it's my only viable option to survive in the arena.

I continue to tighten my jaw down on my lip. Harder and harder. The skin breaks and I feel a small trickle of blood fill the space between my lip and my bottom teeth. The metallic flavor is simply repulsive, and I know the blood would look better running down my arm.

There is no explanation behind this sudden behavior, but I do it because I'm finally alone. I am still numb from this afternoon and the pain is dulled, despite the demons releasing as much as before in my ritual of self-harm. I want to cut right here, right now, but there are no blades or sharp objects sitting around. Plus, I wouldn't want the blood to stain the upholstery and cause a scene before the interviews tomorrow. I'll wait until morning.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Special thanks to malevolent891 for submitting Xian and skyeblue5655 for submitting Jezebell :) I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I apologize for the delay, since I had difficulty finding something to really write on with this chapter. Honestly, this was my least favorite in the end just because I feel that I didn't have enough going for either tribute... I apologize!

Thanks anyways for any reviews you guys leave :)


	9. District 5 - Hide and Seek

_**chapter nine**_

* * *

_astrid flynn, district five_

* * *

I don't want to get out of bed, I tell myself. But I have to get up and get ready. Today's the first training session.

From what we've been told in school, the stations inside the training center vary from camouflage to fire building to plant identification. Of course, there are weapon stations too, and usually you can tell which weapons will be seen in the arena. Last year, my school was visited by the previous Gamemaker, Homer Nevermoar, and he discussed with us the weapons we will expect to see in the arena if we ever get drawn. Homer went on to explain that they always add new weaponry to the surplus they've garnered over the years and love new suggestions.

I exit my bedroom, still dressed in the silk nightgown given to me by the Capitol, to find Emer prepared for the training. He's nearly as tall as me, despite being four years younger.

I feel bad for his family, who all must be in tears that their 12 year old is going to die in a matter of days. I have no hope for him, since the youngest winner all of Panem has seen was 13 years old. But then again, maybe he'll be the first 12 year old to have the title "Victor" affixed to his name.

"You ready?" I ask, but really it's a rhetorical question. Of course he's ready to begin training.

Emer nods and then peels open a banana to eat. In training, we start at 9:00 AM sharp until 12:30 PM, at which time we return to our apartments to have lunch and take a break. We go back at 2:00 PM until 7:00 PM, and then we are told to leave for dinner. That's how our next three days are supposed to go, I guess.

I return to my bedroom and find the training attire hanging in my closet. The material is lightweight and flexible, and each district is assigned a different color. Emer and I wear black with white stripes along the shoulders, arms and down the legs. The jacket zips up in the front and we're supposed to wear a white undershirt. I do as told, and leave my jacket unzipped until I get into the center.

I quickly brush my teeth and tie my dark brown hair back into a tight bun. I leave and Emer is already waiting by the elevator doors for me. The center is located underground, beneath the apartments. It's also where we'll be getting scored on our skills on the third day of training, and I'm more nervous about that than anything else.

The elevator doors slide open and we step in. Believe it or not, this is the closest we've gotten since we were reaped together. We maintain this awkward silence the entire ride down.

I want to go home. I miss my Dad and my brother, even my friends. I know this is enough for me to desire to push myself to make it back home, but I know everyone else is feeling the exact same way.

"Don't talk to me down there," Emer says. It's the first thing he's said to me, besides telling me to stop addressing him as Emmerson instead of Emer, like he wants.

"Why not?" I scoff.

"It'll make us look stronger. Don't make friends, and don't trust anyone. Fade into the background and they won't come after you," he tells me.

"Well, making allies takes you farther," I remind him.

"No, it doesn't. The Careers eventually will have to kill each other at some point, and having allies means you have a better chance of being caught by the Careers."

I don't reply because I have nothing to battle him over. He's right. The tributes who make allies will die faster than those who do not. I don't want to take my chances, so when the elevator doors open, I head in the opposite direction that Emer does.

Unfortunately, we're immediately all called into a big group. All of the tributes are standing shoulder to shoulder now, instructed by the drill sergeant of a trainer to stare ahead at the wall or at him, but not at the others. He says he doesn't want to clean up blood on his brand new gym floors today.

"Alright, tributes. You're here for the next three and a half hours. You will not disobey the rules of the training center, or you will be banned for the rest of the day. You may not talk about your previous training experience to anyone else, or you will be banned for the rest of the day. Do I make myself clear?"

Most of us nodded in unison, but one of the girls doesn't and a few boys snicker quietly.

"Alright. Now start training."

At first, only the Careers break away. It's easy to tell who the Careers are because they have flawless skin and desirable features. Of course, with the sudden spike in District 12 winners and the riches invested there, those tributes are also a bit better looking and less malnourished than they were a decade before. It's as if District 12 is about to become another Career district, all because of Katniss Everdeen.

I then leave the others and go to the small weapon station. It's basically just target practice and I'm allowed to choose a weapon from an inventory of shooting or small thrown weapons. I have a selection between a bow and arrow, daggers, a blow gun, a slingshot, and a baton. I'm not exactly sure why a baton would be used for throwing, so I ignore that option and choose the slingshot.

Back home, my Dad would take me to the power plant and in the fields behind it, he'd set up target practices for me and my brother, Merlin. Usually we'd throw rocks or use his adult sized slingshot, but once in a while he'd let us try out daggers. I think I have intermediate dagger skills, so I'm going to try not to practice with those quite yet.

I am to use these marbles to shoot the targets with. The marbles are like an egg, in that they have a shell and the inside is a colored paint so I know where I shot the targets at. I shoot three test shots, and then begin aiming.

I place a marble between the strap and carefully pull back. I assess how far it'll go, how fast and the damage it'll deliver. I want a bull's eye.

I let go. The marble hits th target and sprays a blue paint with flecks of purple. It was way off target, and I know I'll need extensive practice first. I keep shooting until I get frustrated. I missed every shot! The marbles must be rigged, I tell myself, before I walk away and try the camouflage station out.

When there, I am greeted by the District 12 girl. She is thin and very tall, and looks like a Capitol supermodel with her long legs and sharp features. Her brown hair falls in waves past her skinny shoulders, and she playfully twirls it in her right hand.

"Hey," she says, smiling. I awkwardly flash her a grin, but that's it.

"What's your name?" she asks after a few minutes. I'm painting flower and leaf colors onto the inside of my arm when she says this.

"Flynn," I reply. "Astrid Flynn, I mean."

"Ah. I'm Dawn Verano," she says. Her voice is an octave lower than mine and she talks with a bit of air in between her words. She is too pretty, I think.

"Pleasure to meet you," I say, extending my hand to her.

"Uh, yeah, cool," she says, and then laughs as if anyone is listening to her. I pull my arm back and look down. I continue the painting on my arm and try my best to not pay her attention.

I told myself that I'd enter these Games solo, but after that awkward exchange with Dawn, I don't think it would hurt me much to find someone I can trust now and take them with me through the first few days.

Dawn leaves and goes to mingle with the Careers. Just as I suspected. She's just Career bait. It's a phenomenon that the lower District kids will expect that the Careers will feel bad for them and befriend them early on in the Game, when really the Careers are just blood thirsty and will cut their heads off during the night.

Dawn tosses her hair off to the side as she sensually touches the District Four boy's arm. She is playing the tease role, where she flaunts what she has for attention. I've seen these kinds of girls come and go in the Games, never making it past the bloodbath. Good riddance, I suppose.

The boy gently lets her down, then walks off. She's not satisfied. Dawn follows him, and I can smell the trouble from a mile away. I contemplate going and distracting her, holding my paintbrush in one hand and the color palette in the other. I groan, dropping both onto the workbench, and then follow after her.

As I come closer into earshot, I hear their conversation. I stop in my tracks and pretend I'm not eavesdropping. I play with the rope at the knot tying station and follow the little guide plastered on the workbench and make a simple knot.

"Look, I don't think this is the appropriate place to be making friends, okay?" the guy asserts.

"I'm not looking for that kind of friend, River. I'm looking for _that _kind of special friend." Dawn is such a tease, I tell myself. If you could hear me rolling my eyes, that's all you would be hearing.

"I'm trying to work on stuff. Leave me be," River begs.

"Fine. Just don't be upset and claim no one tried being nice to you, because I was being nice," Dawn says. She turns around and walks away. Our eyes follow her swaggering legs away and I continue to tie the knots.

"Dumb bitch," I say below my breath. I laugh a little bit and River looks at me.

"What? It's true," I tell him, smiling. But then I look at his eyes again, and realize they're fixated not on me, but whoever is standing behind me.

* * *

_emmerson osland, district five _

* * *

The climbing station has been relatively quiet all day. It's now five o'clock, and I'm getting hungry for dinner. Astrid has been by herself since she got slapped hard across the face by that Dawn girl, after she called her a bitch or something. She told me at lunch she didn't realize Dawn had came back around to retrieve her dropped necklace when she called her a bitch.

The smack heard around the center got Dawn kicked from training until after lunch. Dawn apparently calmed down enough and got sent back early, but was told to stay away from Astrid. They share a mutual dislike for each other all because of a stupid word that literally means female dog... Hey, if what they say about Dawn flirting with all of the guys is true, she is acting just like a dog, I guess.

I'm hidden in the ceiling of the training session. The rock climbing course gives me a pretty good guess that the arena will have a mountain in it, so I decided this was most important for me to survive. At the top of the rock climbing wall, there's a small inlet I could crawl underneath so when no one was looking, I took off my harness and got underneath. Then, I found a hole in the ceiling and got up in there, and now I'm watching everyone through the vents in here. I doubt anyone will bother me here.

Below, I see Dawn talking to another girl. I think her name is Chimera. Chimera is a Career and she scares me a little bit. She looks perpetually angry and I feel like she just suffers from bitch face, where she always looks pissed off.

Then I see Kazuo Jimmers. I'm pretty good with names around here, since I stayed up pretty late watching and re-watching the reapings and some of the extra footage of the tributes' families. My favorite reaping came from District 10 because both of the tributes nearly cried about being called up and actually gave one another a huge hug before the cameras cut from them. I bet that they know each other pretty well, and it's possible that they're a couple.

Kazuo is hanging out with Satin, of District 1. This spells trouble because both are brutes, with hulking arm muscles and big man hands. Big man hands that have no fear in ripping apart small boys like me at any given time. Those men are the reason I'm staying out of eye of the rest. I want them to lose an opinion on me, assuming they already have one.

I crawl across the vents a bit more to get a better view on the center. I no longer see the Careers, but now I see Morgann. She's on a treadmill, jogging. It's a pretty flamboyant way to express how good of a runner she is, and it gives her a very large target just by practicing. I almost want to sabotage her treadmill, but at the same time I must realize one less person in the arena makes me get further in the Game.

All of a sudden, I hear a creak coming from behind me. I immediately turn, glaring out into the darkness. The only light comes from the grates below, and that only goes so far. Someone is following me. I need to escape from the vents before someone finds my hiding spot, I tell myself, but a speedy escape will cause louder noise audible from below.

Before I can decide on what to do, which is unusual for me, I see a figure slowly crawling across the vent. A girl. I see her hair slowly materialize faster as she comes closer to light, and then I realize who she is.

"Poppy," I whisper. "Don't come too close."

She appears surprised I know her name. "Uh, boy. Why not?"

"You carry too much weight. This entire thing will collapse if you get too close."

"Oh, thanks!" she whispers, but her voice is nearly at speaking level.

"Shh!" I shush. "We don't want them to hear us."

"Sorry, sorry. Why are you up here all alone?" she asks. Normally, I'd tell her I have to go and walk away, but seeing that we're cramped up in here, I can't exactly do that right now.

"To get away from everyone. Who wouldn't do that?" I tell her.

"I dunno, but we need to get out of here before the others come looking. Let's go."

I follow her out, and eventually we are back at the climbing wall. She slides down the wall and waits for me at the bottom. I, on the other hand, climb my way back down instead of her ropeless rappel. At the base of the rock climbing station, I see her more clearly. She's about two years older than me but we are the same height.

"It was nice talking to you, I guess," she says.

"Yeah, the feeling is mutual."

"I'll see you around," she tells me, then walks away.

Even though it's a better idea to be completely anonymous in the Games, I could see Poppy and I at least being acquaintances before entering. There's always tomorrow to see one another, I suppose.

* * *

**Author's Note: **This was my favorite chapter to write so far. I owe you guys an extra chapter because of my mini break I took not too long ago, so here goes :) Special thanks to GirlOnFire4 for submitting Astrid, and The White Tulip for Emmerson.

I made a decision to include an interview scene, by the way, for Districts 11 & 12. This will allow me to have Aetia give her final impression on the tributes before they enter the arena. Thanks so much for your awesome comments! We're almost to the arena, guys!


	10. District 8 - Blackout

_**chapter ten**_

* * *

_malakie chapter, district eight_

* * *

"Steady... steady..." she whispered into my left ear.

Thwack!

"Damn! Your aim sucks, Malakie!" Poppy burst into laughter at me. We were easily the loudest pair in all of the training center. Poppy and I have gotten along pretty well since yesterday, right before dinner. She's really the only friend I've made here, and it's much more comforting than I expected.

I retrieve the arrow pierced into the practice dummy down the shooting range. I was aiming for the face, but instead I got him right in the groin. Poppy shot once herself, her first shot using a bow and arrow in her entire life, she claimed. I believe her because it's pretty obvious she can't shoot. She didn't even hit the dummy, but rather the wall behind it. We laughed for several minutes at that.

"Okay, let's move on," I told her. She nodded and we left for the plant identification station. I expect her to be a pretty useful resource on this, since she comes from the agriculture District and all. I'm slightly competitive, though, so losing to her is not an option.

When we get there, there is already a line built. Plant identification is easily the most popular station and it shows. Last year, five tributes died from eating poisonous plants all because of a slight color difference between the good ones and the toxic ones. Nobody wants to make that mistake this year.

In front of us is Emer. I don't like him very much, but Poppy swears he's a pretty cool cat. My parents told me not to trust anybody, and while I intend on taking Poppy as far as possible with me, I can't trust her with my life like she does with me. Emer seems like he'd stab you in the back while smiling about it, and then not feel remorse.

"Oh, hey, Poppy," he says almost on cue. He turns to face both of us.

"How're you doing?" she asks, smiling at him.

"I'm fine, do you guys wanna do the plant station with me?"

"No, that's fine," I blurt. "Poppy and I were just about to go do something else." I pull Poppy's arm and shoo her away from the line.

Once we get far enough away, she turns around in front of me.

"What was that about? I thought we were going to practice plants!"

"Not with him, sorry."

"What the hell, Malakie? He's not that bad. You don't need to be his new best friend or anything, just act civil so we can at least try and work together."

I shake my head. "No way, not happening. Sorry."

Poppy scoffs. "Whatever. That's your choice, I'm gonna go practice with him," she tells me, then walks away. I watch her, and of course she stands right at his side and they break into conversation. As if I needed her!

I find my way to a totally different section of the training center. There's a new station that opened up for use today only called "The Gauntlet". Really, it's just a series of raised platforms, swinging rubber balls and trainers that hit you with padded clubs. If you can make it completely through the Gauntlet, supposedly you're given an extra loaf of bread upon entering the arena. Today, the District 1 boy has been the only person to make it through.

While I want to stay as inconspicuous as possible, I think I have a good chance with the Gauntlet, so I stand in line to try it out.

In front of me is the 3 girl, Maribell. She has her hair tied back in a high ponytail and I can smell the Capitol shampoo she used this morning. Some sort of mixed berry.

Before long, she takes a go at it. A little bell chimes when she is allowed to begin, and immediately she hops up onto a platform. The swinging ball is the size of a large pumpkin and I bet it's pretty heavy, so getting hit will probably knock you down pretty quick. She passes the first and barely misses the second, before she hops through an opening in the next platform and pulls herself on top of the next. Now she comes face to face with the trainers, and one tries grabbing her.

Maribell elbows him in the jaw and he stumbles backwards and off, dropping his club. She swoops down as the other trainer swings, grabbing the other club. She smacks him hard and he tumbles down too. A gong rings, meaning she passed the Gauntlet. I now realize I don't have what it takes for this, so I awkwardly step out of line and let the District 4 boy ahead of me. I leave to the much easier shelter station.

I'm totally alone here, and I begin to think about Maribell. She definitely isn't a Career, so how does she get so strong? Why is she so strong? These questions affect my shelter knowledge, so when the trainer explains that I have to learn knot tying first, I completely ignore her and attempt to set up a tent with just sticks, a blue tarp and rope.

After an hour at this task, she cuts me off. I didn't build it fast enough, so I have to leave or try again. She then reminds me to try knot tying, but I'm far too lazy to continue training. Lunch is soon, and I doubt I'll come back after our break. This isn't what I bargained for.

* * *

_alice potts, district eight_

* * *

My mind is racing.

I feel as if I've been hit by a massive semi truck. My head has a deep throbbing and I feel nauseated and dizzy.

I overslept, and I've missed nearly all of the day of training. Today's the second day, and I can't believe I missed it!

I clear my mind a little before I jump out of bed. Now that I've woken a little bit more, I breathe easier and the vertigo subsides. I slowly pull the sheets that feel partially matted to my skin, but that's the symbolism that I really don't want to get out of bed.

I quickly throw on my training attire and swear at Malakie under my breath for not waking me before he went downstairs. It's now 2:07 PM, and I knew I shouldn't have stayed up all night watching the tribute winning odds channel and then the reapings over again. It was almost 5 when I fell asleep... Oh, man.

As I quickly run to the bathroom to go pee, I have a sudden realization. I don't have to go pee anymore. Weird. I brush my teeth instead and then brush my frazzled hair. Wash my face off, too, because that way I don't actually look like I just rolled out of bed. While I'm no longer dizzy, my stomach still feels a bit sour and the throb in my head follows my heartbeat.

I tie my shoes up really quick and then make my way to the elevator. I press the down button, and within seconds the door slides open. Inside stands another person, the guy from District 12. He stands in one corner, and I walk into the other. The doors close, but the elevator doesn't begin its descent quite yet.

He's the guy that volunteered. His name is Obsidian. I remember how the television presenters on the news channels mocked him because he volunteered because he thought he'd be a Career or something. While he has decent muscles and looks like a typical Career, Obsidian can't possibly think he's going to be the eighth winner in all of District 12 history, does he?

I try not to make eye contact with him. But I know he's staring at me. His stare is practically cutting through my skin, it's so intense. I stare even harder at the floor while I wait for the elevator to descend eight floors.

"Hey. What's your name?" he says. I can hear the sinister tone in his voice. I choose not to respond to him because something just doesn't feel right.

After a brief pause, he continues.

"Don't ignore me, you little bitch."

My heart races faster and harder in my chest. I almost want to throw up, I'm getting so scared. What if he can hear me panting? Why are he saying these things? A quick glance at the current elevator level, and it says level 2.

Just then, he grabs my shoulder.

I snap. I turn around and push him. "Back off!" I scream. Obsidian stumbles backwards.

He acts completely confused, but he knows what he did. He releases a string of expletives and pushes me back. The elevator doors open and he exits, still swearing at me.

The tributes waiting near the elevator look at me stunned and confused. Dawn looks even more pissed off than usual. Marina stands between us both, and she knows what's about to happen.

"What the hell?" Dawn says, then clenches her hand in a fist.

She walks over to me, getting in my face, when suddenly Obsidian comes back at me and prepares to slap me, swinging his arm back.

Smack!

There is nothing but a sharp ringing in my ears. Voices abovehead. I am still breathing, but my eyes are taped shut. Have I died?

"Are you okay?" a familiar voice asks me. Someone asks for a medic, and I know my body must be a crippled, bleeding mess.

My eyes flutter open, and the voice repeats itself. "Are you okay?"

That's when I see Obsidian standing above me.

"And that's why we wear headgear, tributes," the trainer announces. I remember what happened, now. I was practicing melee with Obsidian and he hit me across the head.

"Did I black out?" I ask, feebly.

Marina stifles a laugh. "Oh, yeah you did. You probably should take it easy today, you were hit pretty hard."

"Ah, my neck is killing me!" I say.

"Yeah, it will for a bit. Can you stand up?" she asks. She still helps me get back up and I notice how almost every tribute is watching us. Well, watching me. I would want to be seeing this too, typical white girl getting knocked the hell out.

"And you," Marina points at Obsidian, "Don't be such a douche and hit a bit lighter next time. We aren't in the arena yet, chill."

This incites laughter from everyone else. The herd of people dissipates now and I walk away. I drop my club and some other eager tribute takes it to battle Obsidian. My head throbs from being hit as hard as I did, and part of my memory is beginning to come back.

I really have no idea what that was about. I definitely hallucinated something when I was knocked out, and I can't help but wonder what it meant.

Maybe it had to do with how I was fighting with Obsidian before he hit me, and my intimidation by the other tributes. Whatever the case, Obsidian still threatens me and I'm glad it was just a dream.

I take a seat on a bench when a Capitol nurse sits next to me. She asks me a few questions about my head and I answer them. She then does a check, and just tells me to keep it easy and to rest well tonight and stay away from the dangerous stations.

I begin to have a sick, creeping feeling that I have a bad head injury. I almost want her to whisk me away in an ambulance and get taken to the hospital to have a brain scan or something, but I doubt that I'll be allowed to go to the hospital before I enter the arena.

Right now, I just want to close my eyes and dream once again...

* * *

**Author's Note: UPDATED! **I decided to update this chapter because I felt like Alice's little scene was too strange and confusing for everyone else. I apologize for this, but I hope this update makes everything a lot more understandable for everybody.

I'm so exicted to enter the arena! Three more chapters and we're inside!

Special thanks to malevolent891 and DCdreamer55 for submitting Malakie and Alice, I had a great time writing their chapters. Ahh! Next up, we'll see District 10. Then, Katniss will have a short chapter for the training scores and 11 & 12 will share a long chapter for the interviews and... dun dun dun! We'll enter the ARENA! I'm so so so excited. Thanks again, everybody!


	11. District 10 - Disappointment

_**chapter eleven**_

* * *

_kallan rhoa, district ten_

* * *

The sound of soft knocking on the bathroom door startles me, even though the knock was just hardly two small taps. I've been getting more nervous lately, all thanks to the culmination of entering the arena.

I open the door to see Cultiva. His curly brown hair is tied back into a ponytail, but I can see some stray hairs that he didn't bother to flatten out strung away from his scalp.

"You ready?" he asks me, sighing. Today is our last day of true sanity, and tomorrow we are to be interviewed.

"I guess so," I respond. My brown curled hair is still damp from the shower, and I can feel the steam of the hot water escaping through the ajar door. I'm already dressed in my training attire, but I have spent the last twenty minutes in the bathroom crying. I hope it isn't noticeable.

We are preparing to leave the apartment when the elevator opens suddenly. Our mentor stands inside alone, patiently waiting for us to board.

Our mentor is actually from District 12. The last living Victor from our District passed away a few months ago from a bad fall she took during an equestrian show. Her predecessor died from a stroke five years before her, and because of this, we have had to hire someone from a District with excessive Victors.

The assigned mentor's name is Noran Udall. He's 22 and constantly talks about how awesome Katniss Everdeen is to Cultiva and I. Noran is tall and pretty muscular for a 12 man, but I theorize he just spends all day and night working out with whatever tools he can find back home. His hair is cut short and looks jet black, but could easily be a dark brown if we could see the hair under better light. Noran won his Games by simply outsmarting the others, such as hiding in plain sight of the desert map the arena was that year.

"How're y'all?" he asks kindly.

"We're good," I answer, speaking for Cultiva and myself. I answer Noran with the same sharpness as the stinging in my eyes from the absence of tears. Noran tends to be pretentious and often times arrogant, probably because of the fame of being a Victor getting to his head, and this shows in his personality. I don't have to like him, and I've made it obvious this far that I do not like him.

The rest of the elevator ride is awkward and quiet. Cultiva scratches his head once and that's literally the only movement made besides the expansion and deflation of our chests as we breathe, and the blink of our eyes focused hard on the brushed steel elevator door.

They open, and the training center is nearly empty. Some of the lights are even turned off, too, and Noran leads us to an adjacent room that was left locked for the duration of our stay, reserved for this exact day.

There is a platform above all of the training center, too, that was empty up until today. Behind a small wire railing stands the head Gamemaker, Aetia, and President Snow. Supposedly we'll be judged by many more later, but it appears these two are the only ones present now.

Noran continues to lead us to the room while we wait to be scored. Inside are 24 chairs, each set in a group of two.

We have to sit next to each other, I tell myself. I can almost hear the bitchy tone in my head. I have to suck it up because we'll be here for a while. I find a seat and sit, with Cultiva sitting next to me.

Noran stands in front of us.

"Alright, good luck you two. I'll see you later today when this is all finished. Try your best, even if you don't want a high score."

"Not all of us want an 11 like you, Noran," I bark.

He nods. "Okay then. Peace out," he says, then exits the room. A few more tributes shuffle in and find their own seats, getting final instructions from their mentors before they're left here alone.

Then walks Pike Finley. I nearly groan aloud when I see her take a seat in front of me. Cultiva and I have just a row of chairs in front of us, and she happened to take them. Out of the 16 other seats, she had to sit in front of us.

Pike and I sparred once before, and I dominanted her after a rough fight. We're equally matched, and I was beginning to get annoyed with her strength. I don't want to have to fight her, but in the arena there are no limits to what I can do to her. While I manage to keep a low temper, Pike remarked about how easy of a challenge I was, and that made me upset. Of course, she happened to mention it to someone quietly and I shouldn't have overheard the conversation, but I turned around and yelled at her. She wanted to take it out on me again in another fight, to prove how easy I was, so we did and I swiftly won.

Pike doesn't like to lose, I would assume. She stood up, tore off her sparring uniform, and stormed off like a child. She just has a bad attitude about everything and I'm sick of her without having spoken more than twenty words to her.

Cultiva senses my fury and tries talking me down. I block his words, bht they continue to pierce my ears with every sentence.

"Kals," he says again.

"What?" I say in a low whisper.

"Don't act like a baby about it, just ignore what happened," he replies in a similar whisper.

"Shut up," I tell him. He drops the subject and we both cross our arms and face opposite directions.

Some Careers enter a few minutes later, all laughing and joking as they find chairs with their partners. The 4 boy seems awfully distant from the others, but I think he's the only reaped tribute from his District and he realizes he doesn't stand a chance against the others, despite being an equal height and weight as the others.

I want to socialize too, but it seems as though my only option would be Cultiva or the dreaded Pike Finley. I choose A, and turn to face him once more.

"So, what's life back home, Cultiva?" I ask.

He seem startled that for once, I'm beginning the conversation with him. He knows that I'm friendly, but not so much with him and this could be the start of something new.

"Well, I have a mom, dad and two older brothers," he tells me.

"And what do they do?"

"My mom's the mayor's assistant, I think you already know that, and my dad just got promoted to the general manager of the farmer's market downtown. My brothers both work at the farm outside of town, where my science class took a field trip to last month. I think you know the place."

"Max Brothers Farm?" I ask. I do know the place, it's where a small portion of the fresh meat in the District originates.

"Yeah, that's the one. Anyways, what about you?"

"Ah, where to start..." I begin. "I have a foster family and my parents are dead."

Cultiva's eyes widen. "Really? I'm so sorry, Kallan. My condolences to your parents."

I scoff. "Don't act like this is a rare occurrence, the entire fan base knows that a good 75 percent of us don't have both parents still living."

"Shh, don't break the fourth wall!" Pike says to me, twisting her body in her chair to face the two of us.

"Sorry, guys," I mumble. A silence between us fills the air and I blush out of irritation that Pike is still staring at me, waiting for me to say anything more.

I sense Pike has broken her stare and she turns around to face the front. I look up and at Cultiva.

"Tell me about them," he presses further. "Who are they?"

"There's Phan. He's 30 years old. That's about it," I lie. Phan is really only 20, but it would be pretty inappropriate to tell Cultiva that fact, so I willingly conceal it.

"Sounds interesting. Is that all?" he continue, almost begging me to continue.

A voice interrupts. It's metallic and comes from over the intercom.

"Lizzie Kaelin, District One," the voice says with perfect diction.

"That's your cue, Liz," The District 1 boy says, and begins clapping. It's infectious and nearly everyone in the room is clapping for Lizzie. I know I'm not clapping.

Lizzie exits and I catch a momentary glimpse of the scoring room. It's really just the training center with all of the extra stuff moved out of the way, and some targets moved closer to the beam of the spotlight shown down on the tribute. The door closes behind her and we all silence the applause once it latches.

She's the first one to get her score. Within ten minutes, the next name is called.

"Satin Christ, District One."

Satin whoops and we clap again. He walks out and waves goodbye to all of us.

"Only 16 more people until it's our turn," Cultiva says to me.

"I couldn't be any less excited."

Me either.

* * *

_cultiva bainer, district ten_

* * *

"Xian Tang, District Nine."

Kals shakes her head. The cheers have diminished to just a small word of encouragement, like "Good luck" to each next performer. Xian seems the least of the rest of us waiting to present our skills. There are just six of us left sitting in the room with his exit, and there's only one person left before it's my turn to get called out there.

"Don't stress it," I tell Kals. I'm aware of her utter dread towards performing for the judges, and I feel the same dread too.

"I'm not stressed, Cultiva."

"I know, but don't make yourself mess up. I mean, it wouldn't be unfortunate if you didn't get that good of a score out there, but just be on the ball."

"I really don't need a lecture from you, Cultiva," she tells me flatly. "I can handle myself."

There's a loud thud, then two or three from the scoring room. It's likely that Xian has gone melee attack on the presumed figures you're to fight, and he's knocking them over. He wouldn't be the first, since the District 1 boy did the same thing.

I get a tap on my shoulder from someone seated behind me.

I turn to face them, and it's Dawn from 12.

"Hey, what are you gonna do out there?" she asks. She has sweat beads carefully lining her forehead, even though it isn't too warm where we're seated. It's anxiety sweat.

"I'm gonna show them my mad scythe skills. You?"

"Oh, I dunno yet. Maybe I'll just fall on the floor and pretend to pass out, too," she giggles. Dawn is mentioning some girl who fainted during her performance and scored an automatic 1.

"Yeah, you can show them how good an actress you are!" Kals says, but she is trying to be rude.

"Oh, thanks, I know I'm pretty good," Dawn says, and I doubt she caught onto Kals' sarcasm.

Then, a new name is called.

"Kallan Rhoa, District Ten."

She exhales deeply and gets up. I clap for her and Dawn does too. She leaves within a few seconds but waves as she closes the door. I hope she doesn't mess up.

Dawn begins to talk to Obsidian, her counterpart. She and Obsidian supposedly hooked up in real life back home, and they've been inseparable ever since. Dawn seems reliant on him, running every question she has through him. No one can refuse to make fun of her, and even Katniss has mentioned to Noran that she lacks faith that Dawn can pull this off. I happen to believe Dawn just plays dumb to decompose any target she has gotten from others who feel threatened by her.

Obsidian yawns in front of Dawn, as if he is bored of her talking. She takes the off handed gesture to heart and faces away, hurt. I turn away as well and ignore their situation.

Obsidian also has a reason to worry. He's become the laughing stock of all of Panem, having volunteered in District 12. Nobody expects him to win, if even make it more than two days, and I caught a glimpse of early betting records and he has only $100 bet on his victory. He is the twenty second highest out of us all. I happen to have the twentieth highest at $232 bet, with Kallan at twenty first with $225. I'm not upset by these numbers, but I didn't look at who was the highest bet tribute or the lowest one either. I'm not concerned by this at all, really.

Then my name is called. My heart sinks and I know I will make some sort of mistake that'll cost me big numbers. I'm going for a big number because then my bets will skyrocket and sponsors will fly in like bees retreating to their hive.

I stand up and walk to the doors. My legs feel like gelatin and I can hardly comprehend what I'm about to do. Dawn says goodbye, and I say goodbye back. I open the door and walk into the dimmed lights room, towards the eyesight of the judges.

"Cultiva Bainer, District Ten," I tell them and slightly bow.

I find a scythe hung on a weapons display and unhang it. I make my way to the figures and crouch in a ready position.

I let out a yell and begin to attack the dummies. I slash across one and it tears open the fabric on its chest. Another slash across ones neck, which tears the head. I stab two more, but I cannot pull the scythe back out. Damn it, I tell myself. I continue punching the figures and melee attacking them.

After a weak demonstration of these skills, I return to the spotlight. I notice the confused looks on the judges and feel my cheeks burn in embarrassment.

"Thank you," I say, and leave to the elevator bay. I press the up button and wait for it to open when the next name is called. I get in and head up to my room, disappointed with my performance. I don't think I'll last in the arena.

* * *

**Author's Note: **New update! Finally, eh? Sorry for the delay, guys, I've been very caught up with life and the sort and I apologize for my inactivity. I hoped no one would think I lost interest and gave up already! I'm very excited to get into the Games already!

Thank you to Kallan's and Cultiva's submitters, BecauseOfKillianJones and Axe Smelling God! I really had fun with these two, but I worry that I may have missed the mark with Kallan a little bit, so if I did, don't hesitate to message me, BOKJ ;)

Thank you all for your continued support. A short 700 word chapter should come by Wednesday, which just be the score reveals in Katniss's perspective, as well as a betting odds list I came up with during my break. It won't mean anything, I just wanted a fun little post to put up on the blog later on :)

Also, the scores will be based off of my personal opinion, not the one you all sent me. I am solely doing this so it interacts with the story better, so don't worry about it too much. Thanks again!


	12. Scores

_**chapter twelve**_

* * *

_katniss everdeen_

* * *

I paced the hallway three times already, and Noran has yet to show. I can feel the tension building between Dawn and Obsidian, too, who are quietly waiting on the couch for their score reveals at 9:00 PM sharp. I haven't been buzzed by Noran yet to request access to our apartment, so I worry he's been held up by his tributes.

I glance at my watch. 8:32. Still a half hour to go until Panem begins to wake up and the excitement for the Games truly build. It's always tonight that Panem tunes into the score reveals and then stays up later to recap on the reapings we've all seen dozens of times before. Then, they'll all laugh at Obsidian and make fun of his poor decision to volunteer this year, thinking he'd have the best shot at winning over the real Careers.

Then, the buzz sounds. I nearly sprint to the rectangular box by the elevator door and press the shiny black button that allows visitors into our apartment. The elevator also begins to move up, two floors to be exact.

I am absolutely excited to see him, because this is the first night we'll be allowed to speak face to face instead of over the wiretapped phones in our bedrooms. We can finally talk about game strategy without a government official listening into every word.

The elevator doors open, and Noran walks out. We hug for a few seconds before exchanging pleasantries. "Come on in," I tell him and lead him to the living room.

Obsidian stands to greet Noran. They know each other from around the town and Obsidian claims to look up to Noran because of his so-called "flawless game". It's untrue because his opinion is actually just a false assumption. Noran made multiple mistakes that cost him several injuries and setbacks, while the true flawless game ever was played by District 3's Ravinda Dell, who won because she never made a mistake and won without having to kill or have conflict with another tribute.

Dawn also stands and flirtatiously hugs Noran. Dawn tries to play the sexy girl card to every man she meets, which is another factor District 12 is mocked so heavily this year. Noran gently brushes her advances off and simply gives her a hand shake. He shakes hands with Obsidian.

"Hey, guys. Katniss and I are gonna go for a walk, is that cool?" He tells them, then looks at me for approval.

"Uh, sure," Obsidian says, seemingly upset that Noran won't spend more time with him.

Noran walks back towards me near the elevator and presses the up button. There's only one other floor left in the building, and that's the roof access. I see where he's going with this one.

The doors open, and I say goodbye to my tributes.

"And if I'm not back by 8:50, don't save me a seat!" I tell them. Our stylists and Posy Hawthorne are making a visit for the score reveal, and I already had to make a deal with one of the Gamemakers to let them stay with us. It wasn't easy.

The doors close in front of us and the elevator begins to rise. Noran slides a magazine out from underneath the black leather jacket he wears over a plain white t-shirt, and it's the gossip rag sold for just a dollar at grocery store checkout lines.

"What's that?" I ask.

The cover is plastered with the bold red title, "Panem Daily" and the new tribute photos. They are candid photos, from the reaping, because the actual tribute photoshoot isn't until tomorrow before the interviews.

Each photo is haunting, because some tributes are ghastly white from terror or bright red from crying before they took the stage. Dawn and Obsidian appear thinner and dirtier than they do today, but that's how it was for me ten years ago.

"The betting odds are updated. It's hot off the press, the checker told me."

"So is this what it is? Are we gonna look at what the Capitol thinks of them?"

"I suppose so," Noran says. "I guess the training scores were given to the media ahead of time but they aren't shown in the odds. They were taken into consideration already, and an estimate of the official bets currently placed on each tribute is updated, too."

"I remember having only $15 on me in the beginning," he continues. "Didn't it go up to $1,500 before the last day?" He asks.

I vaguely remember his bets that year. It was the second time the Capitol made a fuss about the bets placed on each tribute at that time, as it wasn't allowed before. Mentors and stylists are still unallowed to place legitimate bets, which is fair in my opinion.

"Yeah, I think so."

The elevator reaches the top floor. It opens up and we walk into the access room, which is really just a six foot by six foot by ten foot room with a door and an elevator at opposite ends. Noran opens the rooftop door and we both walk out.

The breeze lightly tosses my loose hair. It would have been nice to tie it back, I tell myself.

The skyline is beautiful, but threatening. I have been on the roof a total of three times since Peeta and I were together. Once was last year, when Posy had been injured in the arena. I stood up on the roof in fear that she would die of her injury, a nasty gash along her chest. Luckily, she pulled through with a sponsor gift I sent her a few hours prior. Another time was the year before when I was pregnant with Masey. I wanted her to feel the same winds I did when I was with the boy I really loved at the time, hoping my daughter could find a man much like him one day. The earliest time was when my tributes died during the Quarter Quell in the bloodbath. Day one. It was my first mentoring year and I was devastated to lose two people I thought had the ability to win.

My first year mentoring was difficult because of the Quell. The rules were that the reaped tributes came from a pool of 18 and older citizens of each District. I got stuck with Hadger Mulroney, a 50-year old medicine woman that worked in the Hob, and Declan O'Hara, a 20-year old miner with two sons. Both Hadger and Declan knew my family personally, Hadger working with my mom and Declan having lost his father in the same mine explosion that took my dad. Neither could fight for their lives and both wanted a backpack of supplies. They died from the same axe swung by a Career from Two.

"Okay, let's read," Noran interrupts, swinging his legs over the roof ledge. I do the same thing and look at the magazine as he flips to the correct page.

"Here it is," he says, then shows me.

It is ordered by the highest bidding price, rounded to the nearest 0. The highest bid, unsurprisingly, goes to Marina Oasis of District 4. She has raked in $2,000 already. Below her is Satin Christ with a cool $1,990. Then it goes on and on until I find Dawn, who moved up to 20th place with $100 in bets. Obsidian only has $20 bet on him, and he's number 24.

"Damn, that's unfortunate," Noran remarks.

"You can say that again. Should I tell him that Panem doesn't like him as much?"

"That'll hurt his feelings. Just knock him down a few pegs and say that he isn't very likeable. That will get him to open his eyes."

We laugh at this, even though what Noran said wasn't necessarily funny.

"Maribell Vellier is tenth highest, surprisingly," I notice.

"And Emmerson however-you-say-his-last-name is in fourteenth place."

"I'm most surprised by Kazuo Jimmers only being in eigth place, wouldn't he higher?"

"He would be, if Malakie wasn't in third place. Unbelievable. Is it just because he's supposedly the cutest little kid?" Noran scoffs.

I especially enjoy time spent with Noran. He's my favorite Victor of the three I spawned, and definitely more pleasant than even I am at times. While he's egotistical and constantly flaunting his arrogance, Noran has a good heart and a real rags to riches story to tell.

See, when Noran was born, his mother died in the process. He's nearly the same age as Prim, just slightly older, and my mom dealt with complications during her own pregnancy that caused her to fear she would have troubles having Prim after Mrs. Udall passed. Noran grew up extremely poor and was always sickly when we saw him because of his low weight, until his father hit an oil line in the mines and got a sizable amount of money for his discovery. Enough so that Mr. Udall could quit working and began gardening for the town and making food. Noran got healthier and began to grow a lot physically, and soon became a big, tall teenager. He got reaped at 16 and the town had a lot of faith in him, after he and some friends got private lessons from the other winner two years before him, Obsidia Beader.

Noran entered the Games strong bodied and killed three people on day one. It just so happens that Satin Christ of District 1 had a sister that year, Sapphire, who was Noran's first kill. Satin was specifically told by a few of the trainers downstairs to stay away from Noran out of fear that someone will throw a punch in an argument.

He continues reading the magazine as I reminisce on old times. Before I know it, my watch beeps loudly and I panic that I have missed the score reveal, but as I check it I realize it's now 8:55. I stand up.

"We have five minutes, let's go," I tell Noran. He gets up too but leaves the magazine behind. We quickly run inside of the access room and press the down button on the control panel.

"They're probably showing exclusive training center footage and candid moments," Noran tells me.

"What, like that one girl getting knocked the hell out by Satin?" I joke, remembering the nurses fluttering to her aid after being hit down. Noran laughs heartily at this.

The doors open and I exit. "Bye, Noran," I say, kissing him on the cheek once we hug. He gets back in the elevator and disembarks to his room two floors below.

I walk into the living room and see Posy, Cinna and his style team seated on the couch with Dawn and Obsidian. I decide not to tell them of their betting positions quite yet, if at all ever.

Posy notices me and pats the seat next to her. I sit and then Caesar Flickerman appears on the screen. It's beginning.

* * *

"From District One," Caesar says. "Satin Christ has earned... an 11. Lizzie Kaelin... a 10."

Expected, since they are Careers.

"From District Two," he continues. "Kazuo Jimmers has earned... an 11. Chimera Tethys... a 12."

Dawn gasps and we all release a collective "wow." Whatever Chimera did was impressive, and we can hardly believe a 17-year old has scored so high.

"From District Three. Static Morrison has earned... a 7. Maribell Vellier... an 8."

"District Four; Marina Oasis has earned... a 10. River Catawnee earns... a 9."

I nod, surprised River has scored so average for his size. He is a non-Career, however, so that's probably why he didn't perform spectacularly.

"District Five; Emmerson Osland has earned... an 8. Astrid Flynn has earned... a 6."

"District Six; Denzin Keanu has earned... a 3. Pike Finley has earned... a 2."

I roll my eyes. Pike is very rebellious in nature, meaning she got deducted for her behavior, or her uninterest in performing for the judges.

"From District Seven," Caesar continues. "Morgann Salven has earned... a 7. Titus Fox has earned... an 8."

"District Eight; Alice Potts has earned... a 1. Malakie Chapter has earned... a 4."

Alice supposedly fainted when she performed, meaning she couldn't compete. I personally watched her perform before hand and she's a 6 at the minimum.

"District Nine; Jezebell Clarence... a 5. Xian Tang... a 4."

"District Ten; Kallan Rhoa... an 8. Cultiva Bainer... a 5."

Kallan did a lot better than I expected, and Cultiva must have choked. He seemed a lot more handy with his own hands than I would have expected, but it's likely he didn't use any melee weapons.

"District Eleven; Dale Streamer... a 9. Poppy Carter... a 6."

We all sucked in our breath quickly. We all became nervous yet excited for the scores to come.

"District Twelve. Obsidian Shawl has earned..." Obsidian visibly tensed up. "...a 10."

My mouth hit the floor. We cheered suddenly and excitedly, because Obsidian seemed doomed from the beginning. Even Posy, who didn't get along with Obsidian, congratulated him.

"Dawn Verano," Caesar continues." ...earned a 5."

Despite this, we still congratulate her for trying. Dawn performed less than average in general, but her real skills are in her socializing. She's made a few friends already, including Satin. I hope for her sake she sticks with Obsidian, however, no matter how difficult.

I have faith in my tributes, but I don't believe we'll have another winner this year. They're an average group really, and even Dawn will lose out against the other girls wanting a chance to go back home. It's unfortunate, but it's also a matter of fact.

"Good job, you guys," I tell them. "I'm proud of you."

* * *

**Author's Note: **This came earlier than expected! It was even longer, too!

Anyways, here ya go. The next chapter will be the penultimate one before we get into the arena FOR SURE this time, and it'll be super long I think and told by Districts 11 and 12. Then we'll hear from Aetia one last time where you'll (finally!) get a description of the arena. And then we enter! Yay!

Thanks for your support, everybody! We're almost there.


	13. Districts 11 & 12 - Attention

_**chapter thirteen**_

* * *

_poppy carter, district eleven_

* * *

The television switches off after Dale hits the power button on the remote. Light floods the room from the building across the street from us flashing its bright neon lights, a party in progress. Dale and I don't speak after he turns the television off, but instead he gets up and walks to his bedroom. He hardly manages a "goodnight."

It's eleven o'clock now, and we have thirteen hours until the interview madness begins for the two of us. I am oddly prepared for the interviews, and actually, I seem more excited than I am nervous. The world won't pay much attention to me, the small girl from District 11, not as much as they will to the Careers. I'm nothing special. My score was a 6, meaning I've received nothing greater than average. Hopefully I'll fade into the background before I win.

I sit in the semi-darkness while I ponder the naivety in that statement. If I win, I could easily be one of the youngest winners of the Hunger Games ever. The youngest was 13 years old, and Finnick Odair was 14 when he won however many years ago. I can't possibly win; it's almost illogical.

Malakie and I can stick together, I think. I trust him most of all and I know he has skills higher than a 4. He told me he would fake a fall in order to get the lowest score possible and distract the others. Chimera didn't do herself any justice when she went ahead and scored a perfect 12, probably because she wanted her mommy and daddy back home to appreciate her skills and inevitably that she will win in the end.

I decide to go to bed. I have only a limited amount of time to get as much sleep as possible for the arena, and between my training and overeating schedules, I don't have a lot of time left in a day as it is.

I slump down on my bed once I reach my room, shut the door and turn off the lights. I close my eyes, the race of thoughts in my head slowing to barely a crawl. I'm shutting out the fear of what I'm going to be faced with tomorrow, and then the next. Tonight, we all saw what everyone is made of, and tempers may just flare. We've been cordial for the past half week now, and it will not continue tomorrow, I can almost guarantee.

xxx

Partial slivers of light peek in through my window, and I realize it is now the next day. I gulp, then gently rise from my bed. I rub my eyes and hope that some sort of clarity can develop. I hear faint taps on my window, behind the shut blinds. I know it is raining, different from the last few days we've been present in the Capitol. Today seems to be the day of mourning for us tributes, the penultimate chapter before 23 of us are killed in rapid succession.

I dress in basic attire provided by the Capitol: black short-sleeved shirt, black athletic pants and black sneakers. Nothing flashy, but not cheap either. The fabric is soft, light and airy, and smells like detergent. I slip the shirt on over my bra but pull the pants on over tight shorts I wear under most everything. There's a pair of Capitol socks sitting out, too, but I put on the pair I wore during the reaping. My last memory of home, I guess. Thankfully, our mentor Jakob did the laundry two nights ago so they're clean and not as dirty as before.

I exit my room and make a beeline for the kitchen. Sitting on the granite countertop is a laminated slip of paper. Before I even acknowledge its importance, I grab myself a fruit and yogurt parfait from the refrigerator and hop up on the counter island beside the sink and take a spoon out from the drawer beside my leg. Then I read the letter while eating the granola on top of the yogurt first.

It reads, "Dear tributes, your interview is scheduled for 7:40 PM tonight, Friday 6/30. Please meet with your stylists three to four hours in advance to prepare for styling, as well as group talk with your mentor and partner tribute. Thanks, the Capitol".

I let the paper slip from my fingers and it falls to the floor. I don't bother picking it up, continuing to eat, and process this. I have a good six or so hours to spend with Dale before we get to the salon two blocks away. I'd rather not wake him up, as he tends to be very grumpy most mornings.

I finish the last spoonful of strawberry and get down from the counter, placing my spoon in the sink and throwing the plastic cup into the trash. I head to the livingroom and plop down on the black leather couch. I turn the television on, and am immediately greeted by news coverage of the upcoming Games.

Pictures of us flash across the screen, with our training scores emblazoned on our foreheads. I notice that lower numbers, 1 to 5, are a beet red. 6 to 9 is just a simple black, but 10 and above is a lime green. I assume that we're being judged on how great we did or how likely we are to survive, because the sound is muted. I change the channel to see a different screen.

It shows 2 tables of us tributes, one each by gender and organized by District. I hit pause quickly so I can be detailed in what I see on the screen.

Each line shows a thumbnail of the tribute, followed by their District, age, height and weight, training score, bets placed and then our winning odds. Lizzie Kaelin, for example, is shown as "Lizzie Kaelin, 1. 15, 5' 7" 132. 10. $4200, 10-1."

I find my picture. It is displayed, "Poppy Carter, 11. 14, 5' 5" 120. 6. $990, 15-1."

I'm not exactly sure what your survival odds are calculated over, but 15 is less than half of us in the arena. I guess it means I have the best chance of being 15th place. I hope it means I'll be the fifteenth to die, but that makes no sense because then we have Chimera Tethys, who by that logic would be second to die. Chimera also has the most bets, unsurprisingly. Slightly below $10,000 is shown by her name, and that number will only soar once she gets inside the arena.

Dale appears behind me, I notice his reflection on the floor to ceiling windows behind the flatscreen television, and turn to face him.

"What's that?" he asks.

"The tribute board, you know, with our odds and statistics and stuff."

"Ah, I see. What're you?" Dale jumps over the couch and lands on the seat. He looks at the screen and presumably finds himself.

"15-1, which isn't that good," I tell him, then feign disappointment. Really, I expected myself to be underestimated this far.

"Well, I'm 13-1, so I'm not much better." Dale sighs. "It's tough being overlooked right now," he tells me. "But at least I'm not Malakie, he's 44-1. He isn't even charted."

For a moment, I don't believe him. But yes, Malakie really is at odds of 44-1. Even Alice who scored a 1 is 20-1, so his low odds are shocking.

"Maybe you should align with someone who can protect you better," Dale warned. "Didn't you say you wanted to work with someone older than you? He's like, 12."

"You're right, but it's just that... Malakie means well, alright? He is of no threat to me in there," I say.

"He is of no use to you, is what you mean. He can't possibly protect you in there, Poppy."

"Who said I need anyone to protect me? I'm able to handle myself."

"Not with a score of 6," Dale countered.

I pause. Dale wins the argument with his statement.

"Alright, you win," I forfeit. "But tell me this, Dale. What am I gonna say to him today?"

"You need me, Poppy. He does, too. But we won't be able to win, the three of us, even if we manage to make it to the end together."

"I understand," I say.

"If we all make it to the end," he continues, "then two will have to die. The winner between the three of us will then go home with the blood on their hands of their own allies, and then they truly will never have won. They have the trauma of the Games to hold onto forever."

I shake my head, trying to rid the thought from my brain. He's right. I can never emotionally let go of my experience, ever.

"So what do I do? Just go on my own?" I ask, knowing in full that this is the only way anybody can really win.

Dale simply nods his head, and that's when I begin to sob.

* * *

_obsidian shawl, district twelve_

* * *

Dawn brushes her hair while I brush my teeth. We maintain similar awkward silences after this morning's events.

It started with Katniss waking both of us up, together. In the same bed. She didn't gently nudge the two of us, but instead poured a vase of ice water on top of our heads, but taking extra care to drop the ice cubes onto mine. She cursed at us, obviously for being stupid enough to sleep together just nights before the big day, where she sends her troops to war in the arena.

Then, we had breakfast together. Dawn and I snuck in a few kisses when Katniss turned her back, but eventually she caught us and threw a ceramic plate at us. It was an intentional miss, but her message was clear: back off.

Now here we are, still damp from our morning bath and jilted because of a plate toss. Dawn and I didn't do anything beyond PG-13, particularly because she insisted we didn't this close to entering the arena. Some sort of bad luck, she said.

After I finish brushing my teeth, I spit and wash my mouth out. It's ten past 1 o'clock now, and we have until 4 o'clock before we're expected to leave for the stylist salon. I already know I'm just going to wear something simple while Dawn will be dressed in some elegant outfit just to talk to Caesar Flickerman for ten minutes.

I patiently wait for Dawn to finish in the bathroom, standing by a window. I watch the people below, busy with whatever it is they are doing. Some hold umbrellas over themselves to be shielded from the drizzle of rain on this abnormally wet June day, while others are more daring and go without even a hat. Little rebels they are.

Dawn comes into the living room and sits on the couch. Katniss still hasn't returned from wherever it is she ran off to, meaning Dawn and I have all of the free time in the world right now.

I lay next to her on the couch. I flirtly nuzzle my head in between her neck and kiss her softly on the jaw. She giggles and I hug her. We both face each other now, and begin to make out.

She and I continue for several minutes before I stop, and lift myself up a little bit.

"Let's do it," I purr.

"Now?" she asks.

"Now."

Dawn and I both stand up, and I grab her by the hand. She kisses me on the chin, and then I lift her off of her feet, carrying her to her bedroom. We continue to kiss as we walk inside, not caring to close the door behind us.

I place her on the bed, and then take off my shirt. This isn't our first time, as we had a thing back home in our District. She does the same, exposing herself in just a simple white bra. I get on top of her and we continue to make out, but then I hear a noise. I stop, reacting quick and trying to hear for another noise.

The elevator doors open. Dawn gasps and jumps off of the bed, grabbing her shirt and covering her chest. She runs straight for her closet, and shuts the door as she gets inside to hide.

Katniss walks into the bedroom, noticing I'm half-naked.

"Get your shirt on, Obsidian," she demanded.

She turned, but then yelled back, "And get the hell out of the closet, Dawn! I see everything, you know!"

She walks into the living room, visibly angered. I pull my shirt down over my head and thank God that we didn't progress further before Katniss came back.

xxx

The limo speeds ahead swiftly, dodging taxis and other motorists. Dawn and I sit separated by Katniss and Posy Hawthorne, who was allowed to tag along for our interviews tonight. None of us speak a word to each other, the only noise present is the splash of water each time the tires roll over a puddle.

"We're here," Katniss says as the limo pulls to a stop. "Don't open your doors yet," she tells me. "Get inside as fast as possible, the paparazzi are waiting for us. We're last to arrive, too, so don't think they aren't prepared."

Immediately the door opens from the outside. I'm nearest to the door, so I climb out and quickly walk inside. Behind me is Dawn, then Posy, with Katniss and a security guard bringing up the rear. Cameras flash as I make my way inside as fast as possible. Once we're all in, security clears us from the lobby and we're ushered back. Curtains fall over the windows, covering us from the prying eyes of paparazzi and some Capitol citizens. Katniss and Posy are in front, and we continue down a hallway. Posy grabs Dawn's hand, takes her down another, and then the guards disperse as Katniss leads me into a room.

Inside are my stylists. Portia and Flavius take me to a chair and begin to wet my hair down. Another woman takes my right hand and files my nails down to perfect, yet masculine, ovals. We already have been perfected when we did the chariot rides, but now we are being primped for the cameras once again. Portia snips small pieces of hair off and starts blow drying it, while Flavius works up a lather to prepare shaving my facial hair.

As this buzz forms, Katniss returns holding three wire hangers with clothes. I'm turned to face it.

My interview outfit will be black dress pants, a dark purple silk button up, a black vest and a matching purple bowtie.

"Here's your shoes," she says, and drops a pair of black loafers and black dress socks.

"It's not a tux," I exclaim.

"Well, there were budget cuts this year," Katniss snapped. I take the hint and quiet myself.

The stylists gently toss my hair to the side and add gel to create a style. They pat it down first, then work their fingers through it. I don't pay attention to them, closing my eyes and dreaming about home. In my daydream, I am writing a letter to my mother. Begging for forgiveness. Asking for her to forget my decision to volunteer, and to take care as I make this transition into the Games. I also tell her that when I get home, either in a casket or a luxury automobile following my victory, that she will kiss me on the forehead once again like I always loved.

When my eyes open, I realize this letter will never get sent. The man I see in the mirror is not the one I saw when I woke up that reaping day. I never intended for this to happen.

* * *

_dale streamer, district eleven_

* * *

"Don't mess with Poppy."

I turn around to see Malakie, glaring at me from his height of five feet nothing.

"Excuse me?" I ask, appalled that he would have the nerve to confront me.

I'm standing backstage, waiting for the interviews to even begin. District 1 is five minutes away from being introduced, and then we'll continue from there.

"You heard me. Don't influence her to side with anybody else. She can make her own choices, you know."

"I never said that. Where do you even get that idea?" I lie. I can't fathom Poppy has already told him, and if so, that just gives me another reason to kill Malakie off as soon as possible.

"She told me," Malakie boasted. "I just talked to her in the hall. If you think you can tell her what to do, you're in for a shock."

"I'm not telling her what to do," I reply. "I'm giving her guidelines on how to survive in the arena. You could use some help, too, seeing as your last Victor was almost twenty years ago."

Malakie lunged forward, but was suddenly pulled back and thrown to the ground. I look at who it was, and I realize it's Emmerson.

"Stop being an ass, Malakie. Leave him alone, move on!" he yells. Malakie gets back up and walks it off, injured from his tumble.

"Hey, man, are okay?" Emmerson asks me.

"I'm fine, but I dunno about him..." I say, craning my neck to find where Malakie went.

"Yeah. Just... ignore him. Something has to be done about him, and I'm almost certain it'll be resolved inside the Cornucopia. Maybe someone should get Poppy to convince him to find a spear inside of it so he can get mowed down by that Two girl."

I laugh, then restrain myself when Poppy comes around the corner. She wears a face of pure rage, and stomps when she comes up closer to us.

"What the hell, Dale?!" she shrieks. "You can't just push him down like that!"

I'm stunned at this accusation, and it seems as though Emmerson is, too.

"I didn't do anything! Unlike you, who snitched to him what I told you," I remarked.

"He's my friend, and now he's getting checked out because he thinks he hit his head on the wall!" Poppy goes on, "And you didn't stop it, Emer! Why not? Are you honestly just gonna stand their while our ally gets thrown on the ground by this behemoth?!"

By now, the other tributes within shouting range are staring at us. I can feel my heartbeat in my face, and Poppy just stands there, waiting for an explanation from Emmerson.

"Well, sorry, but Malakie deserved that," Emer said, shrugging. "Not my fault."

Poppy spun on her heel and walked away, almost in tears. Stage crew come backstage and order the District 2 tributes to go with them so they can await introduction on the stage.

"Sorry about that, dude," Emmerson says after a few minutes of sustained silence.

"Don't sweat it, Poppy and I don't get along anyways."

"I just wish I could see Malakie's face when he realizes there's no way he can actually support her in there. Not one bit."

"I agree with you on that one," I tell him. Emmerson walks away, looking for Poppy, in order to alleviate the situation at hand. Unfortunately, when he does eventually start talking to her, you can see she wants nothing to do with him and ignores everything he says. Emmerson walks away, standing alone next to a table holding snack foods for us tributes, next to Alice Potts and Xian Tang talking, and I see an undeniable hatred growing in his staring eyes.

He stares at Malakie with this fierce hatred. It is undeniable. This is how I know Malakie will die if he gets found by Emmerson.

* * *

_dawn verano, district twelve_

* * *

The red leather chair squeaks as I move my hand across its taut surface. My dress sparkles underneath the dimmed waiting area's lights. I move my hands slower as sweat forms on my palms, and my knees nearly begin to knock together out of anxiety.

One gold trim full-sized mirror stands across the room, as if a reminder of the kind of person I am. Young, afraid, confused. My confusion stems from the overall unawareness of who and where I am this past week, due to the events after my reaping moving in a blur. Just two months ago, I celebrated my 18th birthday back home in District 12. I was finally going to start an internship with the mayor in hopes of rising in political prominence through Panem. My dreams were all shattered when I walked onto that stage to accept my status as tribute.

Father stood in the crowd. He had worked so diligently to get me that intern position that he even took a pay cut. He works with the mayor particularly to modernize and industrialize our District. Katniss Everdeen has held various meetings with the men responsible, especially since she wants to open a training center for youth in our District to become Victors. The mayor agreed, but only if she can produce another Victor. This is likely the reason she is upset with Obsidian as much as she is, since he volunteered in place of a boy who had been training alongside Katniss in secret.

I stare into the mirror at myself. My dress is a blue and purple short thing, with a wide base. Cinna explained it as being a marbled blue and purple outfit, with blue being the base color and purple splashes in various areas. There is still some white visible, too, which adds more depth to the dress, in my opinion. It extends just above the knee standing, and has an empire waistline with a purple sash. It's strapless, which shows off my bony shoulders and clavicle, but that's hidden by a silver necklace and dangling earrings.

The white heels I wear nervously click on the ground when the crowd applauds. Caesar says "Goodbye, Obsidian! We'll be watching how well you do." The applause continues as Obsidian is presumed to be escorted off of the stage. Caesar talks, and is about to introduce me to the audience. I stand and wait in a red tape square I was told to stand in while I wait for my introduction to walk out onto the stage.

I inhale and exhale deeply. Once I'm out there, I'm almost guaranteed that I'll feel less nervous than I am now. Obsidian had no excuse to be nervous, since he volunteered and all, but I am supposed to come off a little nervous.

"Please give a warm welcome to Dawn Verano!" Caesar says. I walk out from behind a velvet curtain onto his stage. At first, the crowd simply claps but once I'm visible, they go nuts. I smile, and wave at them. I know the plastered expression is obviously fake, but on the televisions displaying our interviews, I look genuine and actually beautiful.

Caesar stands to greet me. We hug briefly like old friends, and then he kisses my cheek. He also whispers, "You look fabulous," before I take a seat.

The applause dies down. Caesar dramatically clears his throat, then poses his first question.

"How do you like it here?"

"Well, the boys are cute and the fashion is nice!" I blurt, not exactly meaning to come off like the boy-crazy teenager. The crowd laughs at this.

"Am I one of those boys?" he asks, and then winks at a nearby camera.

"Oh, sure. But you're a bit out of my league, unfortunately," I say.

"Aw, I know. I'm just too good-looking for you, eh?" he jokes.

"Actually, no," I say. "You're way under my league."

I realize what I just said is going to be strewn through tabloids the next morning because of how off-handed that comment was.

"Ouch, burn!" Caesar continues. "Anyways, tell me a little about yourself, Dawn. How's life back home?"

"My dad's probably watching this, so I won't tell you about how boring it is, but I will tell you that District 12 is actually pretty interesting. Not as interesting as the Capitol, of course, but go figure since I only have running water five times a week."

The crowd bursts into laughter at this, and even Caesar stifles a laugh.

"And our water probably is hot compared to back home!"

"Yeah, too hot. I have this big burn on my lower back from getting into a too hot shower the first night that you can't see," I lie. I say anything to make the people like me, as I bet the unusual quiet when Obsidian was on stage wasn't because what he was saying was too interesting to cheer over. I have to do whatever damage control I find necessary.

"Ouch, sorry hun!" Caesar confides, and continues with a round of questions.

This process continues for at least fifteen minutes. It means he likes me, because he can stay with a tribute for as long as he wants, and five minutes is the minimum. He finished his interview with Obsidian in record time, but he really drags mine out.

I see the fakeness inside of Caesar. I analyze how he treats me, with only meager care. His behavior only is used for television, and I notice that he always draws attention back to himself after I say something that makes the crowd react. He knows he's aging, and each year he is getting more and more easier to decode. People are going to eventually give up on him, and we all are aware of this. He is desperately clinging onto his youth.

The interview ends abruptly, likely due to the television network running out of time he the interview special. He stands, we hug, and I leave the stage in smiles. The crowd cheers. Like my life this past week, everything seems to mix as one. Before I know it, I'm huddled in the small bathroom backstage, vomiting my guts out.

I hold my hair back with a shaky hand. The pungent smell of stomach acid reeks the air, and I flush the toilet. I'm puking not out of fear, but because I didn't make the biggest and boldest move that I set out to do.

These Games needed to be rocked, and maybe I'd get pulled out before it was too late. The Capitol would all notice me, and all of Panem would lose their minds. I stand up, holding myself stable on the sink's edge.

I have to do it. I have to tell everybody.

I know from previous experience that the interviews don't end until Caesar addresses the crowd and gives a lengthy exit speech. I run out of the bathroom and traverse the maze of hallways back to the stage. Obsidian and Katniss call my name when I run past, confused as to why I'm running back to the stage.

I pass the curtains and the crowd gasps. The spotlight moves to me now, and Caesar is visibly upset about that. He is about to ask me a question when I yank the microphone from his clenched fist.

"I'm pregnant!" I shout.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hmm... Wonder what that means...

Sorry if this chapter totally sucked, guys, but I really pushed myself to get this done. Truthfully, I already have the next one done and I'm about to begin part one of the bloodbath once I hit "publish". I really, really want to give you guys a Christmas blessing with the release of both parts of the first day inside the arena, so you'll have to bear with me on this chapter.

Thank you to the submitters of Poppy, Dale, Obsidian and Dawn. I know that some things I would have liked to show weren't this time around, but it's because I couldn't fit it all in under 5,000 words. I noticed some of you have already been guessing on who you think will be the Victor, which is awesome! I've officially decided on who will win, as well as the death order of each tribute. So yes, everything is set in stone now. I will give you all a teaser of the bloodbath and tell you that one District will lose both of their tributes, and one submitter will lose both of their tributes, too. Partly because of the storyline and how bad one tribute in particular was submitted...

Anyways, yes. Dawn is indeed pregnant. While I know everyone will begin trashing me for this decision to add this twist, especially her submitter who may or may not have said "no" to romance, this will totally be an important symbol inside the arena. Trust me when I tell you this.

Until next time. Thanks for everything, you guys :) You have all helped me get through this rough time of the year.


	14. We All Fall Down

_**chapter fourteen**_

* * *

_aetia_

* * *

"Is everything finished?" Snow asked, but the question seemed more like an interrogation. Just the day before, my team and I submitted the arena's code into our computer systems, and now the entire thing has gone live.

"Yes, it is," I confidently tell Snow. He is still wary of my previous unpreparedness, but because he has an arena to go off of, he cannot be displeased.

"It is a somewhat refreshing landscape, Aetia, I will admit," he begins, "but I just don't understand why you needed to take so long to do the arena."

I nod. "I cannot excuse my lack of preparation during the off season of the Games, but as you know, I replaced Steiv Mach in the fourth quarter of the previous year."

"And, you missed every opportunity meeting to begin plans for the arena."

"But I did upgrade the computer systems for our office, as well as make the interactivity of the Games a lot more accessible for outer Districts," I point out.

"Not only that, but who went on three separate trips outside of District limits during the perfect spring season to photograph different landscapes to use in our current arena now?"

"You did, Aetia. I applaud you for this. However, if anything more goes wrong, I will reprimand you. I want you to understand that while you are a Head Gamemaker, rarely ever do Head Gamemakers keep their positions for long. Don't mess this up." Snow speaks with a serious sternness that would frighten near anybody in a confrontation with him.

Snow exits the small office we stand in. Three other Gamemakers are here simulating the arena using a small buggie built four years ago to ensure that the terrain is free of error or glitch in the system, as well as fire plaster balls at the force field to test its security.

I leave this office and enter the open, white room of where 27 of the others work feverishly to perfect these Games. They are putting finishing touches on the arena, from adding snow to the mountains to growing mushroom spores in the forest with lightning speed. The holographic map is laid out, with the 24 arrows for each tribute shown in their circle around the Cornucopia, marked by a golden horn on the map.

Some arrows disappear momentarily or move around as the tribute loses contact with the tracking devices in the computers. The tributes are still underground, waiting to begin launch into the arena. I stand above everyone else, with one task alone: press the red "Launch" and the green "Start" buttons at their appropriate times.

One Gamemaker taps me on the shoulder.

"Hello," he says, his olive skin beaded with sweat. He's nervous, a new recruit from District 3. "I am having an issue with my computer, mind h-helping me?" he asks. His voice shakes, but I pleasantly smile.

"Of course! Now, what's your direct issue?" I ask as he leads me to his desktop.

"Well, I cannot add the wolves into the arena without them attacking each other," he says. Once we reach his desk, I notice the issue. The four wolves are fighting one another, as they are programmed to attack anything that moves in the arena.

"Ah, yes. I think I see what it is," I tell him, then take a seat at his chair and begn typing code into a command box at the bottom left of his screen.

"You see, you just have to enter 'attackcommand off' and then right click each wolf. This will prevent them from attacking each other. But now we have another issue," I say, and show him what happens next. The wolves begin to wander apart, and hardly notice each other.

"So, do we enter... 'acceptrelations on' and then 'groupform yes'?" he asks me.

"Yes, and then of course, right click on each wolf. Now we have to set them on hibernate until it's dark out," I say. I again type in a command, press enter, and then the wolves retreat to an unknown part of the arena for the night to come before they attack.

"Thanks, Aetia," he says, sighing with relief.

"No problem, Wilhelm!" I insist. "Don't forget to re-route the deer path so they don't run into the force field again."

I return to my perch above the spherical room. The chatter and click of each key fills the room as 50 plus hands add commands to the arena so everything functions normally. A clock now displays on the map, telling me we have thirty seconds to launch the tributes into the arena.

A petite woman takes a microphone at her desk, presses a button, and says, "twenty seconds to launch." This is played to the tributes, saying their final goodbyes to their mentors and stylists. Some are crying, others are excitedly prancing across their room. The rest stand calmly still as they hug and say their goodbyes.

Snow enters the room again, and clears his throat loudly.

"Good luck, Gamemakers," he booms. "Let's make the 84th Hunger Games as successful as the rest. Here's a toast to your diligent efforts to make it perfect." He holds up his glass of wine and everyone cheers in the room. The woman says into the microphone, "ten seconds to launch," and everyone gets right back to work. Some finish their codes, others add clouds and brighten the sun a bit for the tributes. One even adds a pearlescent layer to the golden Cornucopia to add a glisten when the countdown is beginning.

I shake my head. The timer reads 00:04. I prepare my hand to press the red "launch button" when the timer beeps. The sound echos shortly as everyone awaits my press. If I don't, the Games could easily just be delayed, but that idea is short lived. I press the button.

The map suddenly turns into a live, 0 second delay view of the arena. Tributes heads poke out from the dirt and are blinded slightly as the sun shines into their eyes.

All 24 are now at ground level, and the view of the map returns, while the live feed is projected on a screen on the wall. Everyone patiently waits when the countdown begins from fifty.

_fifty, fourty-nine, fourty-eight..._

The Cornucopia is on a stretch of land elevated about 100 feet from sea level. There are a few pine trees, shrubs and patches of long grass. The flat land is about 100 yards in diameter. On one end, facing the opening of the Cornucopia, is a steep grassy hill that has an opening for a small river to flow through and is connected to the valley. From the top of the Cornucopia, tributes can see the mountains and the valley pretty well, but not the lake. The forest connects on the side opposite the hill and has a small hill of its own.

_fourty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight... _

The valley is very hilly and rocky, and follows the winding river almost to the lake. The mountains are divided by the valley, and tributes who are daring enough will climb the mountains for shelter. There is a lack of plants or cover here, but rocks can hide tributes momentarily during sticky situations and allow for easy climbing. At the end of the valley, you are greeted by a huge white water river that will likely kill a tribute within seconds, should they accidentally fall in. This soon dissipates into a calm waterfall and then the lake. There isn't much here, except that it borders the forest. There are lots of shrubbery and greenery as well as animals.

_thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..._

There are two mountains. Each are very tall and snow-capped, as well as rocky. The first is the West Mountain. The West Mountain is characterized by being extremely long and tall and serves as the border for the entire western side of the arena, as well as part of the southern border. It is the tallest of the two and has a lack of coverage, however, tributes who can scale the mountain are likely to find the cave and have perfect shelter. The East Mountain offers great coverage from the elements and has more plant life growing on it. It rises about 100 yards high, making it just barely a hill. The top has an abundance of trees, berries and plants. This makes up part of the forest. The side closest to the arena is sloped greater than that in the valley and it is very rocky and easy to climb, but not descend.

_twenty, nineteen, eighteen..._

The forest begins at the base of a smaller hill located at the Cornucopia and slopes down slightly to the lake. There are many varieties of trees, shrubs, plants and more, but a lack of berries. The animals are usually just rabbits and the occasional bird or small deer. But be careful for the tracker jacker nest, as these poisonous wasps are genetically modified to sting twice and have stronger venom. The trees are sturdy to climb in, so find one and latch yourself in for the night. Arguably the safest place to stay during the day and night, but just be cautious when on ground level during the night because some times the wolf pack will sneak in here at night.

_ten, nine, eight... _

Capitol citizens are cheering now. The tributes get into running stances. Some wipe tears, or sweat, from their faces. Pike stands straight and makes no movement, frozen in place. She shows no fear.

_...seven, six, five..._

Our Gamemakers begin to cheer. The woman reading the countdown doesn't falter or flaw. My heart races in its chest, and I am watching these children prepare to kill each other.

_...four, three, two..._

Everyone arches forward, ready to reach the Cornucopia. We hear a metallic click on three, meaning the landmines have disarmed. The tributes don't know this, but the mines always disarm at three.

_one_

I smash my hand into the start button, almost right as she releases the "n" sound of one. The gong rings at once, and everyone flurries. Even Pike takes direction, and nobody has fought yet. Someone shouts, "Satin is in the Corncucopia!" and now the Games have truly begun.

It isn't long after that we see the first body hit the grass.


	15. Backstabbed, part one

_**chapter fifteen**_

* * *

_satin_

* * *

Standing upon my pedestal made me feel the way I know my sister must have: courageous. She was clearly too courageous. Sapphire was one of the first deaths, the bloodbath's victim. Smashed in the head by a club by our favorite Noran Udall, to be a little more specific as to how she met her demise.

The loss of a Career on the first day is almost unheard of, being more rare than having natural twins born twice to a family. During the 75th Games, where everyone was reaped over the age of 18, we did lose one of our tributes then, too, but since he was a 42-year old with severe schizophrenia, I don't really consider him a Career. Sapphire meant a lot to my mother, so after she died, my mom went pretty insane and started rallying against the Games. One day, she was shot dead in the streets. Her body was neglected for the entire afternoon before the medical examiner picked her up. I had to see her lifeless body bleed into the cracked concrete sidewalk as a declaration of the Capitol's power.

I realize now that the countdown has reached the last ten seconds. I lunge forward, prepared to launch myself towards the Cornucopia. I pick out the tributes who are faced in the same direction. Most are Careers much like me, but others are the daring tributes that will likely be picked up by the hovercraft before nightfall.

Birds are chirping behind me. They are distractions to us all, so I focus on none other than my goal: the gold-handled sword perched on a crate, just visible nearest the back of the Cornucopia. It lays in its holster, practically calling my name as the seconds pass.

The gong rings. I sprint ahead. I pay no attention to the others surrounding me, and I hope they do the same with me. I reach the back crate, the run having felt like a marathon through sticky molasses. I'm exhausted and I grab the sword, then unsheathe it. I run back to the mouth and see a tribute run across. I swing the blade, and his belly is sliced open in a bloody tear. He collapses, and when he does this I hit another tribute. He falls onto the first death, and I realize who I have just killed.

Cultiva and Xian. Two cannons fire in my brain, but not yet aloud, and I am now a murderer. My mind races and I feel the heat build in my face, almost as an embarrassment. Across the field I see another tribute fall, Static Morrison. He is bound to die when Titus Fox comes at him with a long sword, but the dagger thrown into Titus's stomach stops him in his tracks. Static gets back up, then removes his knife from Titus. He runs away, only looking over his shoulder to make sure the deed is done.

I sprint away from the Cornucopia when Kazuo runs in next to me. I'm better off alone than with these people, and it hasn't been easy for us Careers to get acquainted fast enough. I may as well save my own skin out there.

Chimera knocks over another girl, Jezebell. I suppose Jezebell is the next death as screams fill the air behind me as I pass them, headed for the mountains. The hill comes fast than expected, so I awkwardly slide down its steep, grassy slope. Morgann is just below me, and while it would be best to spare her, unfortunately I stab her in the back with the sharp end of my sword. She screams as expected, then I shove her down to the ground. Her death comes instantly, because when I prepare to stab again, I notice her chest has stop rising and the blood pools nicely. Some mixes with the nearby trickle of the impending river, adding a gruesome appearance to the valley.

I run through the stream and follow a trail that twists around the base of the mountain. A few sparsely placed trees give me a slight cover from anyone following me until I come behind a boulder. I stop, then crouch down to gather my breath before heading up further. I count the current deaths. While I must assume the worst case scenario that everyone actually survived their injuries, I believe there to be five so far. Cultiva, Xian, Titus, Jezebell and Morgann. District 7 is probably in tears over the sudden loss of their friends, family or neighbors. Quite honestly, even the other tributes will be somewhat disheartened over the loss of both of 7's tributes.

Then, the first cannon fires. Two, three, four. The firing continues until it hits six. Someone else has died. I partially hope that Obsidian or Dawn are the last one, since both have egos swollen to the size of the moon. With Dawn's pregnancy, she is likely viewed as a Capitol and nation favorite, solely because her uterus is filled with clumps of cells working together to create another hopeful tribute. Whatever the case, they need to be offed by someone with a good bow and arrow skill. Or with the sheer force of Chimera's butterfly swords, or maybe the sickle of Kazuo.

Before I gain enough energy to press on, another cannon fires. Seven. While this last one wasn't expected, I still welcome it. This means there are only 16 more tributes left to die before I win.

* * *

_pike_

* * *

The cannon nearly covers the whimper made by someone distant. I watch from my perch on a tree branch high above ground as Chimera kisses Kazuo on the cheek goodbye and walks to the forest alone, carrying just her swords and a backpack slung over her shoulder.

Kazuo returns inside the Cornucopia and I make my descent quietly. I drop my own backpack below me, but because I hold the heavy water canteen and aspirin bottle, it makes only a small amount of noise. I drop down afterwards, and hit the ground hard. I wait, making sure no one remains inside besides Kazuo, and then turn to find the source of the whimper.

I walk down the hill cautiously, holding my backpack to my chest to block any arrows. I unzip the top and drop in the pills and canteen, and zip it back up.

The whimper starts again, and I see its source.

Blood stains the grass where Morgann lays alone. Tears run down her cheeks, ruining her black mascara, as she holds her tribute jacket to her back. Without hesitation, I run towards her to give her emergency aid.

"What happened?" I ask in shock. Her back is the source of the bleeding, and she removes the jacket to show me her wound. It's a gnarly gash, and pretty deep, too. It didn't come from a simple knife, so I assume the weapon was something with a bigger blade, like a machete or a spear.

"Satin stabbed me," Morgann moaned.

Satin was carrying a pretty hefty sword when he passed by me, and it was already stained with the blood of Xian and Cultiva, the former being the only friend I made here so far.

"Alright, where did he go?" I question.

Morgann points ahead to the snow capped mountains. He probably made the escape behind it in order to avoid persecution for his kills.

"Okay. I need you to take off your shirt, Morgann," I order her. I rip open my backpack and grab a small aid kit I nabbed as I left the Cornucopia. Inside is a sterile bandage, the size of an envelope.

She does this without protest and I also grab a small bottle of alcohol. I keep turning to the hill so I don't get axed in half by a stalking tribute, or daggered down by another. I wet her jacket with a bit of the alcohol, and warn her about the sting she'll feel. I dab her wound, and she seethes in pain.

The wound itself wasn't dirty, but it's better safe than sorry. I rip open the sterile package of the band aid and lay it down, sticky side up, as I continue adding pressure to her wound.

"We need to get going," I say, and hand her my backpack and the aid bag. "Carry that, and I'll hold this to your back. We gotta go."

She stands up with help from me, grabs the band aid, and I continue holding her jacket over the bleeding gash. She wobbles as she walks, a side effect of the dramatic loss of blood. She continues to moan, but manages a "thank you" eventually. She loses her balance about a quarter mile down the river, so I decide it's time we take a break. She crawls behind one single tree next to a good sized rock for me to sit on.

I apply the bandage to her wound now, pressing the edges lightly against her skin. The bleeding has gone down pretty quickly, the effects of this Capitol brand alcohol, and whatever remains now thickens like normal. I slip her black t-shirt back over her head, and then give her my jacket.

"Why did you do it?" she asks after a while.

"Why did I do what?" I ask, but I really know what she means.

"Save me. Why didn't you just let me bleed out? That's one less person to worry about."

I roll my eyes.

"It's not like you were looking for an ally anyways, we all know you're a lone wolf or something in here."

"That's not why I did it," I confess. "I did it because it was my first instinct. I couldn't just let someone die right in front of me, okay?"

"But you watched everyone else die."

I suddenly get a hot flash. "What do you mean?"

"I saw you in the trees, Pike. I think we all did." Morgann lays her head down on the grass, but keeps her stare into my eyes. "So tell me, why did you save me in particular."

The truth really was that I knew how important it was to save her. She had just come out publically during her reaping, and watching her girlfriend cry in the audience as she was pulled into her District's justice building became a very popular moment this year.

I instead lie to her. "Fine, because I knew you would be my ally. That's why I did it."

"Well, you're in luck. I wanted to be your ally too, so I guess now you have no choice but to keep me alive forever, huh?"

I roll my eyes again, then hand her two pills and the water canteen.

"Shut up and take this aspirin. It'll help with the pain." For some odd reason, I can really see myself and Morgann becoming very close in these damned Games, even though one will have to die in the end for the other to succeed. If only we had met elsewhere...

* * *

_dawn_

* * *

Underneath the hot sun, I fan myself while Obsidian fills our water bottle up with fresh river water. It's been an awkward half-day since the interview last night for us, but he promised to be my partner after my announcement last night. It really was an announcement for both of us, but I suppose it's only bettering my game with the expected sponsors Katniss informed me about after I got back to the apartment.

Following my departure from the stage, I was whisked away by security and taken immediately back to the apartment where my mentor stayed. I missed even the mini wrap party with the other tributes because of my stunt. Katniss screamed at me because of what I had just pulled, informing me that now I was the target of everyone who had seen the interview backstage. Which was the entire group of tributes. She made me take another test on the spot, then two and three more. She was even more upset when they all read "pregnant".

She didn't believe me at first, which made me frustrated. It was like convincing a blind person that the sky really is blue. Katniss only has so much experience with being pregnant, having a daughter herself, so I kind of expected her to have these crazy maternal instincts. She didn't, and couldn't seem to stop berating me over my announcement.

She wasn't mad about my being pregnant. She said it was totally out of her control at this point, so she couldn't be upset about that, but she was more mad that I never told her about it ahead of time. Katniss said that she already knew I hemorrhaged out sponsors out of fear of sponsoring "the pregnant girl" and that others would fear to even try sponsoring me.

Then came her knowledge that the other tributes were mocking me. The bitchy Careers laughed and the others just scoffed because I tried to show them up.

So this is why I'm stuck with Obsidian. Here we are, running through the forest blindly. He doesn't say much to me as he grabs my hand, leading me through the maze of trees and shrubbery. I turn to see if anyone else is following us, but so far I haven't found anyone. We had no real plan, in fact, I intended on making my own way up the mountains to get snow for drinking water and try to survive off whatever food grows up there.

We finally stop near a ditch. He leads me down into the trench, and lays us both down. I breathe heavily from running, and Obsidian just intently stares out into the trees for predators. He isn't afraid of where they're coming from, but who is following us.

"What is it?" I ask after a brief moment of silence. He doesn't respond right away.

"Nobody, I just wanted to check." Obsidian slides back down the trench to face me. He is covered in mud and flecks of grass. His hair is slightly matted down from the sweat that beads his forehead, but I do not judge him for looking unkempt, as I probably look the same way. He wipes something from my face with his thumb and we make eye contact for the first time since the gong sounded.

Suddenly, Obsidian leans in to kiss me. I pull away, afraid that the cameras are zoomed in on us here. He seems upset, but doesn't force anything onto me. He glances down at the ground.

"Sorry, hun," I murmur.

"Whatever, Dawn."

His tone comes off pretty brash and rude, so I act surprised at his attitude.

"What does that mean?" I snapped.

"Why can't you just let it go?" Obsidian yells, standing up. I stand up too, and now the surprise isn't fake. He has just turned on me.

"You don't get it, Dawn. I don't have any reason to live in here and no one will care if I drop dead!"

I point at my stomach. "This seems to be a pretty damn good reason to stay alive. What the hell are you going on about now?"

He grabs me by the shoulders.

"That baby is just another reason Panem doesn't like me! You really are misunderstood. I'm hated because I volunteered with you, babe, and when I told everyone it was because I thought I was a Career, it got everyone to turn on me."

Obsidian made it known to me that he volunteered because we were a couple back home. Not an official boyfriend-girlfriend item, but we have hooked up in the past. Obsidian just so happens to have some training, too, so why not take the chance? He told everyone else, however, that he volunteered because of his experience. I tend to believe the latter more because a lot of our time has been spent bickering.

"So you think it's my fault you volunteered? You are here because of your decision to volunteer. Not because of me. I will not let you think that this is my doing."

Obsidian yells out, and slaps his forehead in anger.

"No! I volunteered because you got picked. I have the power to win, and that's a coincidence. I love you, Dawn, but unfortunately, you don't see that. This baby and my mockery have caused me to lose faith that I can actually pull this off. I can't win now, and that's a damn shame. It isn't fair."

"Twenty three people will not win. That is the name of the Game, Obsidian. You have to roll with the punches, even when you are down for the count. Don't lose faith yet, Obsidian. I still think one of us has a damn great chance at winning. You can do this." I'm practically screaming at him, and I'm not sure why I'm motivating him to win.

The two of us finally kiss, even though romance is absent at this given moment. Our embrace is broken only by the sound of the tell tale chime of the sponsor gift, floating down on its white parachute through the branches of a nearby tree.

* * *

_emmerson_

* * *

Poppy sits, quietly, on the dirt floor, faced away from my pacing self. The images are still fresh in my brain. Blood spattered along the riverbank. A dagger sticking out of his chest as breaths slowly inflate and deflate in his lungs. I close my eyes and attempt to clear my thoughts, but nothing works.

"How did it happen?" Poppy asks. She still doesn't look right at me, and she has good reason.

"He just... came up behind me. He held it up to my neck," I begin, and run my fingers along the small slice just along my faint Adam's apple.

"What, the knife?"

"Yeah. He grabbed me by the back of the hair, and I just snapped. I flipped him over my back and that's when it nicked me. He fell onto his own back and I took the knife and stabbed it right into him. It was before I realized who he was, Poppy. I swear."

She turns after processing what I have just told her.

"So he was lucky number seven? The seventh death?" She asks.

"Yep, I guess so."

Poppy stands up and chest bumps me. I stumble backwards, stunned.

"You guess so? No, don't play that game with me, little shit," she threatens.

I have to do a double take. This sweet and innocent Poppy has suddenly turned angry and cross.

"You killed Malakie cold-blooded. You said you let everything go between you two," Poppy barks. I try crawling backwards, afraid she'll use something - anything, really - to hit me or cause bodily harm.

"No! It was out of self defense!" I cried.

"He told me he didn't have problems with you. You told me how much you didn't like him." Poppy follows me with ill intent. She steps on my feet as she approaches, hoping to stop me from crawling away.

"I did like him!" I lie. Poppy kicks me in the side.

"Don't bullshit me, Emer! I know you didn't want to see him in our alliance."

I twist and stand up, pressing myself against a thick tree.

"You know, I have to admit it. I thought you were just gonna off him some random night here. But no, now you got him to look like he was trying to start something with you. This is pretty elaborate," Poppy says, then laughs.

"But he did attack me! I defended myself!" I quiver.

Poppy shoves her face to mine. Our noses nearly touch when she stops, and whispers into my ear.

"Yeah, right."

She then headbutts me. The back of my head hits the tree, so the pain is coming from both sides. I yell out, and then fall to the ground, clutching my skull.

"Get the hell outta here before I do worse," she warns. I believe Poppy can hurt me more than just headbutting me, so I get up and run away from our alliance's camp.

I don't turn back. She has officially kicked me out of the alliance. Really, I thought I could only trust her. She was respectful in the beginning, but I could see the ferocity in her eyes since the first time we met. Poppy was never to really be trusted, and I saw her as only temporary. I'm better off on my own.

When I get far enough away, I decide to climb the nearest tree. My head still pounds, so when I reach the desired elevation, I close my eyes and try to focus on my next move. Without warning, my emotions take control and I begin to cry over my two lost allies.

* * *

_kazuo_

* * *

"I know what you did."

The voice comes out of almost nowhere. I pivot on my heel quick, and see Kallan standing alone. She holds two switchblades in both hands and her face is grim.

"Excuse me?" I say, and press up against a crate. Sitting on top is a scythe I found earlier.

"You know," she says, and begins to walk around another crate. I gulp because this crate holds significance.

"They probably want to retrieve the contents of this crate as soon as possible, Kazuo." She is taunting me, and I can't avoid her game.

"W-what are you talking about?" I try to act as smooth as possible, but I know she has a vengeance to kill me now.

Kallan shoves the crate onto its side. It really is just a wooden box with a thick cardboard lid, and the lid falls off.

Astrid Flynn's lifeless body flops out onto the concrete. The pooled blood also spills, and I gasp at the sight of her stab wounds.

"So why'd you do it?" Kallan asks. She holds up the lid, which is covered with pierce marks from a katana now hidden in another crate. "Alice was just trying to get away."

"Because she shouldn't have hidden in there!" I yell. "It's her own damn fault for thinking I wouldn't attack her!"

"You know she was my only ally, Kazuo."

I grab the scythe as Kallan comes closer. She kneels down to Astrid and holds her hand.

The truth is that I stabbed the box several times when I heard her quiet whimpers from inside. She could see me, and I knew it was her. She probably ran in here and got intimidated when Chimera and I ran in after. Chimera went off and I stayed behind, only to realize someone was with me. Out of fun, I decided to end her life instead of taking the noble road and letting her free. Big mistake, now that I realize even Kallan stayed behind too.

"Why are you here?" I stall.

"I was here with Astrid. She hid in the box, and I got behind that weapon cart. I saw the whole thing. Too bad," she says, then looks at her blades, "that I'm armed."

She then throws a dagger right at me. I dodge it, but just barely: the blade catches on my cheek and I feel the heat of my own blood trickle against the wound.

I grab the scythe and whip it ahead of me. She seems shocked to see it, and stands back.

"Try again," I say.

Kallan runs at me. I am about to stab her with the edge of the scythe when she ducks underneath my arms and slips out to the field. I turn and begin to chase her.

She starts screaming, and turns only to throw the next dagger. Her aim is significantly less accurate than before, and absolutely doesn't come close to hitting me.

She has a great advantage at first, but Kallan is not as fast a runner as I am. I prepare my scythe to grab her by the neck.

However, she twists. Instead of slicing her throat, I fall on top of her. She screams, and tries pushing me back. Kallan is calling for help, and I can't do anything to stop her from calling from help.

"Get the fuck off of me, asshat!" Kallan screams.

"Shut up, bitch!" I yell back.

She spits in my face, and I let go of one of her hands. She swings as I wipe her spit from my face.

But that's when something else hits me, from behind.

I yelp in pain and fall to the ground. Kallan is no longer below me and I know I've lost her. She stands up and begs for mercy. I don't see who has struck me from behind, but when the person speaks, I know I've taken a literal stab to the back.

"Run, they're coming!" Chimera barks at Kallan. She runs away as Chimera flips me over to face her.

She places a foot on my chest, and I'm dizzy from the pain extending from my back.

"You should have taken the high road, Kazuo. Too bad I'm not taking it." She holds up one of her swords and swings down.

That's the last thing I see before everything goes black, and I know I'm gone.

The cannon fires as I draw in a sharp, pained and final breath. Is this what dying truly feels like?

* * *

**Author's Note:** We have sadly lost eight out of twenty four tributes with this first installment in the arena. I am proving that nothing should be expected with the death of these eight.

I cannot express my sadness in having to write them off. I simply could not connect with these tributes like I expected, and while I loved most of them in the beginning, I couldn't justify keeping them alive for long. I apologize to the submitters of our bloodbath deaths, as well as Kazuo's and Malakie's since they died post-bloodbath.

I hope that this first part of day one can convey my feelings towards these tributes. With my major edit of the story that caused my delay, I had to re-select a victor and a few of the important details of the story. Spark and Ignition will be much better this time around, I promise, and I won't take such a long delay again for this story :)

Again, I hope the readers don't stop reading for killing off these tributes. I had to do it somehow, and these eight were the only ones I could not write with perfection. I have lots in store for the rest, however, so expect more frequent and livelier updates...

For the record, if you lost your tribute and you want to ask specifically why I decided to kill them off now, don't hesitate to message me. I totally understand if you hold ill-will about their deaths, and I'm totally okay with talking to you if you don't think I gave them justice. However, realize that once I have hit publish, there is no going back. Nothing can bring them back, unfortunately.

Until next time, everyone.


	16. Backstabbed, part two

_**chapter sixteen**_

* * *

_kallan_

* * *

With that scream, I take off into the valley. Chimera has just saved my life, I tell myself. It takes a few moments to process that I haven't really died, even though Kazuo held his scythe up to my throat to end it all. I don't dare look over my shoulder as she finished the deed with him, and I only stop for a second when the cannon fires. Kazuo has lost his life. My knees wobble, and I get nauseated.

I turn my head down and vomit. I collapse to my knees, holding the ground still as I attempt to regain clarity and focus on the task at hand. I taunted him too far, and he pushed back. If I had realized he was armed ahead of time, I would never have confronted him.

Astrid and I made a deal to work together back when we were training. Truthfully, I didn't trust that Astrid was honest about several things and I couldn't stand her for an hour let alone the duration of the Games, but her death meant to me that I had no protection.

I guess either way I had protection, actually. Chimera basically just gave her entire District a huge middle finger for killing off her ally and saving someone weak and easy to prey upon as me, but then again, she may just be saving me for the main course with Kazuo as her appetizer. But why would she have saved me first? Is this a sign that she wants me to live for another day?

Whatever the intention was, I stand on my two shaking legs and continue through the valley. It is late afternoon by now, and I would estimate that we have been in the arena for four hours. The sun has yet to begin to set, but it approaches the west mountain playfully. There actually is an overflow of light and it kind of burns my eyes a little bit, but I just squint and push on.

I begin to worry about Chimera. What if she didn't make it? What if Kazuo actually got back up and finished her off? That would be a load off of my back, plus I would have been saved only to have the toughest competitor, and my savior, killed off so I don't need to face her again.

Really, I have minimal chances of survival. I try not to hurt myself with memories of home this early on. Emotional strength is vital at this point, and emotional strength can transfer to mental strength. Before long, I have the desire to go home even higher than I did previously and I can wipe out anyone who faces me. It has happened before in the arena. Look at Katniss and Mackayia Chaffen: both girls had a family to provide for, and both came from lower Districts. Mackayia was ruthless while Katniss was critical. Those qualities alone are what ascended them to become two of the greatest Victors ever.

I decide to take a break. The river now has swollen and looks like a real river instead of its previous trickling stream. The water is clear, crisp and it makes me pretty thirsty. Right here, it is only a foot deep and the rocks beneath it look muddy, so I would have to wait until I get to a deeper section to drink from it.

I lay on my back and hope something comes for me in the form of a sponsor. Quite honestly, nobody back home would sponsor me. I attacked a Career, lost my only weapons somewhere on his body and in the dirt, and now I'm just a sitting duck. These thoughts are uncomfortable to swallow, but I can't bear to suffer with blissful ignorance instead of the painful truth.

The grass on the medium slope below me seems slightly damp. I don't bother, but the gentle winds that blow past and brush my skin chill me. I sit back up and prepare to take off again. But a snap in the trees behind me causes me to snap back to defensive mode and I stand up. Facing the edge of the forest, I cautiously step back to get a better stance.

Before a person comes out, I see just the tip of a blade, aimed directly for my forehead.

I fall to the ground and the dagger is thrown. I cover my head and my heart beats quickly and painfully, and I await another dagger to hit me somewhere fatally.

"Don't worry, I just hit a rabbit behind you," a voice says. I look up and see who made that voice.

It's Chimera. She holds her hands up in defeat.

"I need to keep you safe," she says. "Let's work together. No funny business, I swear."

* * *

_river_

* * *

Nothing makes a noise but the flow of the river. It is now pretty thrashing and violent where Marina and I made camp. We're at the edge of the arena, with just a few hundred meters of trees behind us and the waterfall that leads to the lake and the true forest to our left. To the right is the rest of the river, which leads to the valley and the mountains, eventually.

Marina is off, searching for whatever food she can find back at the arena. The previous cannon fire startled me, and I continue to fear for the worst. She took a dagger I stole from the dead body of Titus, which wouldn't be enough to protect her. She promised to be back by nightfall, but it's nearly sunset by now. She and I have bonded this past week, and she still doesn't believe that I'm not a Career. It's likely that the other Careers are not as friendly as we expected, since Satin and Kazuo have twice verbally argued over who was in line first at the training center or who took too many slices of bread during our wrap party after the interviews.

Chimera and Lizzie both tended to keep to themselves, but I did talk to Lizzie a couple times. Usually it was just small talk, and I doubt she's interested in what I have to offer. She is the youngest Career this year, and it's a bit surprising that she's even here. Her reaping involved her volunteering and her father acting pleased, while another woman (her mother?) was devastated. Interesting family dynamic she has there.

Marina soon emerges from the forest. I stand up, ecstatic that she isn't dead or hurt. She carries a hand-weaved net and inside is several plant varieties and a sponsor gift. She throws the net across the river and then wades through its four foot deep waters. Even though it's pretty violent water, she does so with ease, and her waterproof shoes probably help her traverse over the rocks.

"What is that?" I ask, and point at the tube.

"Ah, thanks for asking me how my adventure was," she remarks.

"Sorry. How was your adventure, then?" I apologize. She smiles and sits down next to me.

"Well," she starts. "Kazuo is dead."

I gasp. "Did you kill him?"

"Psh, no. But guess who did." She stares at me intensely, as if telling me that the answer is obvious.

"Chimera?" I try.

"Yep. And she let Kals go. She saw me when she said, 'get out of here! The others are coming!'. I'm not exactly sure who she was talking to when she said that."

"Both of you, maybe. What happened with Kallan?"

"Kazuo chased her down and tried to get her with a scythe. Chimera ran out of nowhere, got after him, and stabbed him in the back, literally. She used his scythe and I watched her slit his throat. When the hovercraft picked him up, I swear his head was hanging on by a thread."

I shake my head. Unfortunate. It's a blessing to have Kazuo, easily a tough competitor, killed off so soon, but that means Chimera has no problem maiming us, too.

"She's already as vicious as Enobaria," I claim. "Let's just hope her teeth aren't sharpened."

"Her wits are pretty sharp. She is a quick thinker. Something tells me she's already two steps ahead of everyone else."

"Do you know what that means?" I ask. Marina looks at me, slightly puzzled.

"No, what?"

"It just means we'll have to stay on our feet. Outwitting her might get tricky eventually, but she's too brutish to win without something horrible happening to her."

"Or us," Marina remarks.

"Right. But let's face it. There's still Satin, who can nab her in an instant."

"But he isn't versatile. She's a 12, he isn't. She can use a bow, daggers, spears... Anything. I've seen her train, River. She's good."

Marina doesn't want to quit. She continues putting us down, and that's the least of our worries. We have to win. I have to win, actually. I can't let even her outwit me in the end. Maybe feeding her to Chimera isn't that bad of an idea.

* * *

_denzin_

* * *

Was my decision to embark away from the bloodbath all done in vain? With the setting sun behind the treacherous mountain, I lay alone near the lake. I can hear voices from above, near the waterfall, but they don't sound threatening. In fact, they're laughing now. I don't do anything to hurt them because I'm relatively unarmed, except for a blue tarp I picked up right by my pedestal. I fear that now I'm left alone, in the open, with nobody to talk to or have protect me.

I can't exactly kill someone with a tarp! With Chimera slicing and dicing everyone she sees and Satin just stabbing through everyone that walks in front of him, I'll likely get eaten alive by those who are bigger than me.

Pike and I haven't talked since we decided to work together. She kind of gave me the cold shoulder, and I was so freaked out that we weren't connecting. I kind of ruined it for myself by following her around like a lost puppy, to the point where she told me to back off. I was crushed. I still am, actually, but I digress.

My mother and father are back home I bet, watching the television and praying that I'll make it through. Dad always told me to be brave and confident, while mom just wanted me to be safe and sound. I couldn't even tell her that I have a splinter without her worrying I'll contract an infection and die. Dad would see me get my leg cut off and roll his eyes, telling me, "It builds character!" They're probably arguing about my odds of survival right now. I'm not gonna win, I tell myself. Unless the Capitol unleashes some sort of tornado that kills half of us, I won't make it past the third day.

Being pessimistic is all I can do right now. I won't depress myself by reminding that I'll be dead in a few hours, but I don't allow myself to think that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. Pike has the right idea with the cruelty of the Capitol; they have these rules that only apply to those less fortunate than them. Every citizen of the Capitol doesn't have the rules of the Hunger Games apply to them, while the ones who actually have nothing to live for do. It's all totalitarianism.

I stand up, and walk to the trees to go pee. I unzip my pants, whip the thing out, and go. Before I finish, I hear a voice close by. I shake, put it back in, and jump through the trees and try to escape. Big mistake.

"Hey! Get back out here!" the voice yells, and I climb up the nearest tree. Frankly, I've never done this before but someone's out there to attack and I need to escape.

Once I'm up high enough, I see who it is. Static, from District 3. He holds a huge spear, and aims at me. I scream, and he throws.

The thing misses, but I lose my footing and fall down a few branches. I don't hit the ground, and I'm still high enough away from him, but I lose some sanity and try to climb back up. He picks the weapon back up, and throws again.

It hits me. Luckily, the blade just cuts through my sleeve and my skin isn't broken. I jump to the next tree and grab onto a solid branch.

Then the branch snaps. I fall, back first, to the ground. Once I hit the ground, something pops. I let out a scream of agony, and Static runs over to me. He holds the spear over my head and is just about to finish me, when I'm dragged back up by someone else.

* * *

_poppy_

* * *

The same situation repeats in my head. I can't let go of the fact that Malakie is dead.

It's night now, and I have a measly fire going to boil some leaves and cook a rabbit I killed. I don't feel bad about hitting Emer, he damn well deserved it.

But now I have a new ally. Denzin is still sleeping, and he isn't doing too well. He suffered a back injury and can hardly walk more than a few feet. Getting Static away from him was difficult, and once I dragged him away, Static ran off in the other direction. Denzin seems to be in high spirits, however, which is surprising considering the fact that he nearly died.

Fighting with Emer was a blessing, for Denzin's sake at least. Had we not argued, I would not have stomped off in a rage and killed a rabbit and picked leaves off of plants. Then, I would never have heard the commotion and saved Denzin from imminent death by Static. Static is pretty crazy, and I don't think we need to lose 9 tributes today.

The water is still boiling and the rabbit underneath is totally cooked. I take it off the fire and lay it on the folded tarp that Denzin had a few feet away from his injury site. I try to wake him, but he hardly stirs. Why is he so tired all of a sudden?

I begin to eat the rabbit. The leaves finish boiling, so I put out the fire and let them sit in the pot. Some of the water still remains, so I'll try drinking that when it cools down enough.

Before long, I realize how hungry I truly am. I eat the whole rabbit myself and the leaves are just left. I am still hungry, but I'll be noble enough to give them to him. He finally rouses from sleep, so I hand him the warm pot. He picks a few out and eats them gingerly.

"Good?" I ask, and he just nods. I don't know him enough to talk about other things, and it's kind of sudden to have to take care of this random tribute. Something tells me people have been too kind in here, what with the whole fiasco with Kallan and Chimera making its rounds through the gossip circle.

I heard about this from Maribell Vellier. She witnessed it, and we've talked a bit during training before. She's nice, but I could never align with her. She's 16 and I fear she's slightly weaker than I am. I told her that I was going to do this alone, so when we saw each other earlier today (surely after my fight, but before I found Denzin) she debriefed me about what she saw from her perch way up on the hill by the Cornucopia. She also said that she saw Satin climbing the mountains, so Chimera will probably continue her wrath anyways. He's the only one who can kill her.

We hugged after that and said goodbye. She's pretty opposite to me, but I don't mind being her friend for the time being. I wonder if she'll do well or not. I trust that Maribell won't come looking for me to become an ally, since she was also totally alone. I'm trying to not have to deal with her.

All of a sudden, the anthem plays. The dead list is gonna show up! Denzin and I both look up through the trees to see who has fallen. Unfortunately, Emer won't be in the sky tonight.

The list goes in order by District, not by when they died. Personally, that's a disadvantage to us all, but whatever floats the Gamemaker's boat.

The first name and face shown belongs to **Kazuo Jimmers, District 2**. He's the rare kind of Career that dies on the first day. Pretty sad for whatever family he has back home.

The next is **Astrid Flynn, District 5**. Her death comes as a surprise to me because I didn't think she died, but Maribell speculated she had passed, too.

Now I see **Titus Fox, District 7**. He was the second guy I saw die today, so he doesn't surprise or arouse my interests.

Following him is **Malakie Chapter, District 8**. I don't cry over his death, because I never cry. But his death is still hard to swallow, and I hate Emer for it. Whether or not it was self defense.

**Jezebell Clarence, District 9 **is after Malakie. She and her District partner both died today, so I know they're probably upset (and likely raging) over the loss of their beloved.

**Xian Tang, District 9 **follows his partner. Nothing I could say about him, other than that he was relatively quiet. And flamboyantly gay.

**Cultiva Bainer, District 10**. The first death I've ever seen. Something tells me he was trying to tell me something, but I'll never know what. With the last tribute next, I hope it's Dawn. Or Obsidian. I hated them both.

The face that shows is instead **Dale Streamer, District 11**. I jump up and scream out in absolute horror. He died today! I almost cry with this, since neither of us got along well. He was an unfortunate casualty of the bloodbath. My mind is racing and I sit back down. How could Dale have died from anything? I thought he made it out alive and well!

With this first day, we're down to 16 tributes. 16 different people. Only 11 districts have at least one tribute still alive, but many have both. I'm envious of them because now I lost my partner. Then we have Chimera who goes around and kills her own partner, as if he is worthless to her. It's not fair that I had to have this happen to me, but I calmly accept that others had the same happen to them.

When I go to look at Denzin, tell him that Pike is still alive, I realize he is not moving. Is he dead?

"Denzin?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, there it is. I would have listed the dead tributes here, but since Poppy just saw the list of the dead, I think that is part of my job for you ;)

The next chapter will be lengthy, as it will be the full second day. I hope you guys prepare for longer chapters to come, and there will be one that I'm expecting to split into two parts as it could easily reach 8,000 words in total. The finale will also be separate parts.

Don't forget to go on my profile and vote in the poll! It's who you think is most likely to win ;) It will close once I post the final chapter and we'll see how everyone votes. It's only between the final 16 tributes that didn't die in the bloodbath, and we will see death in the next few updates to come.

Until next time, everyone.

P.S: You will notice that Dale did not have a death scene written for him. His death wasn't incorporated because the original scene written would involve it being told through his killer, Lizzie's, eyes. This is going to be discussed in the next chapter, so don't worry yet.


End file.
